01 The One That Got Away
by MsNomi
Summary: Written as a Birthday gift.Supernatural - Hardy Boys crossover.
1. Prologue

Updated (Nomi)

Enjoy!

* * *

**The One That Got Away**

By Nomi

PROLOGUE

In a warmly lit and cozy double storey house located in Abbey Lane just off the end of High Street, a matured age woman was just getting out of a nice long bath. Her name was Mrs. Angela Hooper; a full time housewife and mother to a seventeen year old son Allan 'Biff' Hooper, who was also the star quarterback of Bayport High, and a loving wife to Mr. Alexander Hooper who ran his own subcontracting company in the local construction industry. They were the picture-perfect image of a typical happy Suburbia family. A very typical product of a successful American Dream living in a comfortably upper-middle income neighborhood in a little Hamlet called Bayport just off the coast of the Great South Bay in the Town of Islip.

Tonight, however, the mother was home alone. That was not a reflection of any family problems. After twenty two years of marriage and seventeen years with their golden boy, her family's still as loving and tight as ever. In truth, her husband and son were out at Bayport Super-Bowl for the local Annual Father and Son Bowling Championship. She looked forward to them returning with the trophy this year. They have been practicing hard after losing to the Hardys last year.

_Men are boys!_ Angela Hooper muttered fondly under her breath with a soft laugh. She wondered idly which son Fenton Hardy would be pairing with this year. But since the father paired with the younger son, Joe, last year, it would be fair to assume that Frank would be playing this year. The Hoopers were close family friends with the Hardys, and the three boys currently attended the same school. In fact, she and Laura Hardy were childhood friends. Angela liked the Hardy brothers. She knew they were a good influence on her boy. Thinking of those two brothers always reminded her of her single regret in life: that she could not provide her Biff with another sibling to be his best friend and confidante. Biff's birth had been difficult, and complications had ensured that she could never have another child. That news broke her heart then. It still hurt her now.

_Still, it's lovely to have a moment to yourself without having to cater to the men_, Angela distracted herself as she finished blow drying her long blonde hair. She pulled her soft and fluffy bathrobe over her silky pajamas before heading down to the kitchen to make herself a mug of steaming hot chocolate. From there, she walked into her tastefully decorated living room and plopped herself down unceremoniously onto her favorite comfy couch. She set her hot mug carefully onto the little coffee table located conveniently next to her, and reached out for the book she had been reading for the last few evenings. It was_The Shining_ written by her favorite writer, Stephen King.

Angela shivered enjoyably as she read Danny's premonitions. She could almost see the frightening visions as described by King. She reached out for her mug of hot chocolate to steady her nerves and to give her eyes a short break from straining to read those scarily seductive words as quickly as she could. After several sips, she paused.

Did she just hear something?

Angela took a quick glance of her house. Everything seemed normal. She strained her ears and heard nothing but the soft whispers of the night coastal breeze.

_King's explicitly descriptive words must have spooked my nerves more than I expected_, she chuckled nervously.

She took a long gulp from the mug of now warm chocolate to warm her unreasonably chilled guts and cold fingers before returning her attention to her book.

Then she froze as her fingers instinctively tightened on the pages of her paperback novel. There! She heard it again – that soft creaking sound like someone was making her or his way across the parquet floor somewhere in her house. A quick sidelong glance at the living room clock told her that it would be at least another hour before she could expect her husband or son home. Her heart started to thud just a little harder and louder.

She strained her ears again. The night breeze whispered and cooed outside her many windows. The rustling leaves from a nearby tree brushed against the glass, making soft wicked scratchy noises.

_Goodness! I am getting as descriptive as the book!_ Angela mocked herself – for courage. She lived in a safe neighborhood and could not recall a single crime in her immediate surroundings ever since she moved in almost ten years ago. Bayport was a small town, and on Abbey Lane, everyone knew everyone else.

_Crrreeeaaak…_

This time she sat up straight on her couch, her heart pounding. There was an eerie feel about this.

_Crrreeeaaak…_

She could feel the beginnings of moisture forming on her brow, slowly coagulating and grouping, forming beads of sweat that would soon be visible along her brow.

_Crrreeeaaak…_

Another quick peek around the room told her she was alone – still. Quietly, she reached out for the cordless phone lying carelessly on the edge of the coffee table. The feeling of relief as her hands closed over the receiver was palpable. She pressed the speed-dial for her husband's cell phone, lifted the receiver to her ear, and hoped that he would pick it up.

There was no ring tone. A feeling of dread filled her as she lowered the receiver so she could see the LED display. There was no bars visible, indicating that there was no signal. It was then she knew that someone was in the house with her and had cut off her connection.

_Crrreeeaaak…_

She could not even call the police for help! Neighbors? She almost cried when she belatedly recalled that the whole family was overseas for holidays. She was totally alone. Dread turned into fear, fueled by the adrenaline that was already flooding her system as she reveled in the descriptive horror by her favorite author.

Move! She had to move! No matter how scary, she refused to be the sitting duck. The one thing she learned from reading horror novels was: one stood a higher chance of surviving, or winning, if one fights back. And if she could reach the kitchen, she could use her cell phone to call for help. Failing that, she could the kitchen's doors lead straight to the garage where she could drive off to safety.

_Crrreeeaaak…._

Angela reached out for her son's baseball bat that was always kept under the double seat armchair behind her couch. With the bat held firmly before her, she slowly made her way through her house. Her house that suddenly felt so unfamiliar and so alien.

_Crrreeeaaak…_

The hallway leading to the kitchen never felt so far in her life. It was as if her house doubled, tripled in size in the last few seconds. She could now hear other noises in addition to the monotonous creaking. She refused to think about what those noises might be. She refused to describe them, because the knowing those descriptive words would mean having to acknowledge what she was currently not ready to acknowledge.

And she was already far too terrified to think clearly.

_Ah, yes! The kitchen! Come on, Angie. Just a bit more… You can do it! _She psyched herself.

But her cell phone was not where it should be! She felt the weight of her heart as it fell, whooshed, down into her guts. She missed a breath, and was certain her heart missed a beat. Still she crept forward towards the door that would lead to the garage.

_Crrreeeaaak…_

It was only after a few steps that she realized that the door was slightly ajar. She strained her eyes and tried to peer through that tiny gap. She thought she saw a shadow moving beyond. Her breath started to come in gasps. She had no idea what to do next, and where to go. She only knew she had to back off, and so she did. Slowly.

She backed into a muscular chest and let out a squeak of terror. Strong hands reached out to stabilize her. She turned, saw the familiar face and heaved a sigh of relief.

"Oh, I'm so glad to see you. I think there's someone else in the house," she whispered in a half terrified, half relieved voice as she held on tight to the familiar figure.

It suddenly occurred to her that he should not be here. Why was he here? Her relief turned to suspicions hovering just above a bed of terror as those legitimate doubts started to assail her.

But she was not given any time to think, nor was she ever given the answers. In the next second, a fiery pain ripped through her belly and guts. Angela looked down, shocked to see one of her kitchen knives sticking out of her abdomen at a crazy angle.

Angela stared for an instant at that familiar youthful face that was looking back at her with inhuman black eyes. Before she could even choke out a 'why', she felt a force jerked her backwards and upwards. Pain radiated upwards from the base of her vertebrate to her head as she crash-landed on the ceiling. Blood spurted from her lips as her head banged hard against the rock hard cement. The knife slipped and clattered down onto the floor.

The next instant, she was the heart of a ball of fire. She watched her skin melted in the heat before even registering the agony of the burns. The fire started from her pinned by an unseen, unnatural force to the ceiling. The cool blue flames radiated outwards, gaining momentum as it spread outwards from the kitchen to the other parts of the house within seconds.

Angela died long before the fire ran its course and finished its work. And all the while, the killer stood and watched, untouched by the flames. Then he walked away from the scene just as the sirens of the fire brigade could be heard in the distance and disappeared into the shadows of the dark night.

**_---xxxSUPERNATURALxxx---_**


	2. Chapter One

Updated (Nomi)

PK: If you're certain, I'll switch over to Books. Argh, heck, I'll post on both sides and email Nomi as to what she wants.

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**The One That Got Away**

By Nomi

CHAPTER 1

**Welcome to Bayport**

"We're here," twenty-four year old Dean Winchester announced with forced cheerfulness after reading the huge welcoming billboard as he skillfully swerved his beloved '67 Chevy Impala seemingly carelessly off the highway and onto the road leading into the little hamlet of Bayport.

"Population of 8,000… That's what I call a mini-city… you got all the addresses, Sam?"

"Yeah," Sam replied a little stiffly, his eyes still glued to his little trusty Sony Viao.

Dean threw his brother a swift, sad glance before returning his attention back to the road. His kid brother had not forgiven him for cutting that deal with the roadside demon. But he knew how lil' Sammy felt; it would be similar to what he felt when he learnt his father made another similar deal for his life just a few months back. The question was: would that experiences enable him to help Sam live on with his selfish actions?

He knew he was selfish. He could not live with the knowledge that he failed to protect his own brother. Yet he expected Sam to live with that same knowledge.

His fingers tightened on the steering wheel, his eyes took in the scenery flashing pass him without really seeing. His mind flashed back to his past when he trained under his dad to hunt … evil. Yeah, his family hunted unspeakable beings that were invisible to the rest of the world because they do not believe in the existence of such creatures. Yet those creatures impacted on many a normal life, destroying it with a casual touch as if it was worthless. He admitted that a major part of his decision to become a hunter and learn all he could about the Supernatural world was because of the fact that his mother was murdered by one of those creatures. He was four when it happened. He remembered his mom. One day she was there, caring for him and loving him, and the next she was gone, leaving behind an infant brother for him to look after, and a father obsessed with avenging the death of his beloved wife. As far as he was concerned, those creatures took not only his mom, but also his dad. And they stole his childhood to boot. He grew up in the shadows of the Supernatural world, fear and terror his constant companion as he tried his best to be both father and brother to his little Sammy. His little Sammy who inherited his mother's hair and eyes; who was the only inheritance he had from his mother.

That was why he did what he did. Keeping Sam alive was like keeping a part of his mom alive. He could not protect his mom all those years ago. So saving Sam was to him, saving both his brother and mother. One life for two was a good deal as far as he was concerned. If only Sam would see things his way…

"Hey little brother, I've less than a year left. Let's not waste it, huh?" he appealed in a light tone a short while later.

"That's why we should be figuring out a way to get you out of that deal," Sam snapped back, his hand gesticulating rather wildly at everything and nothing. "And not wasting time on… on…"

His voice tapered off as Dean suddenly applied the brakes and pulled the car to an abrupt stop at the side of the road. There was a moment of silence that was only broken by the occasional car whizzing by. He looked out of the window and noted the clear blue sky above. The road was fairly empty for what looked like a lovely day and Sam wondered at it. Then he heard his brother's quiet voice.

"I can't, Sammy."

Sammy; a childhood endearment that had not been used in years - And for Dean to use it now… Sam felt something heavy land in his guts.

"What aren't you telling me, Dean?" he asked trepidation growing.

"The Deal – If I make any attempt to get out of it, you dropped dead," Dean finally answered in a flat tone.

Sam gasped, shocked. How could his brother make such a deal? Then his eyes hardened. He was a lawyer in training after all. "But I can…"

"Let it be, Sammy!" Dean cut in before adding in a softer casual tone. "And I should be down there to keep Dad company – he shouldn't be down there alone. And you, when you get to heaven eventually, tell mom I love her."

With that, Dean gunned his engines and moved off. He did not want to think about what would happen to him in Hell. He had no doubt that he, like his Dad, would be one of the more popular guy there in the extreme negative way.

"Dean…"

"That's why we have to figure out what the heck is happening here in Bayport. So that we can be sure you're OK," Dean interrupted Sam abruptly. "Azazel's dead and his plan supposedly fell through according to the demon that possessed Casey. So why those six women were killed the same way mom was killed over the last three weeks?"

"Dean... Dad's no longer down there… he escaped when Jake open those Hell's gates, remember?"

Sam watched quietly as his brother readjusted his grip on the steering wheel, flexed his fingers, and went through a series of meaningless motions.

"Maybe Dad's down there, and maybe he isn't. But I don't have much time left and there is one thing that I have to be absolutely certain: I need to know that you're safe. Can you understand and just accept that?"

It was that unidentifiable something in Dean's tone that silenced Sam for the moment. A part of him raged at his brother's selfish actions. Another part of him understood why Dean did it. Heck, he would have done the same thing for his brother when Dean was in a coma if he had known about making deals with demons. His Dad never told them about it. Or perhaps he missed that bit because he chose to walk away from the family vocation and selfishly choose to live a normal life have a girlfriend and go to college. Perhaps what happened today was the consequence of his selfish choice: He walked away from his family once, and now, they were being taken from him.

Then he would be alone. _And dangerous…_

Sam gave himself a hard mental shake to rid himself of certain unwelcome thoughts. His lips curled into a grim smile. He would find a way out for Dean. He would have to, or die trying. Dean's hands might be tied. But his certainly wasn't. It was all about legal technicality. A plan formed in his mind but he kept his thoughts to himself. There were certain things his elder brother did not have to know about.

"Take the next left turn, then the third right, head straight through the roundabout. Bayport Motel should be around there," Sam said instead after glancing at the road map on his lap. "And we should get ourselves some breakfast before starting work."

"Anymore dreams about that potential victim?" Dean asked.

_'Dreams'_, Sam thought. Dean preferred to call those _'dreams'_ instead of _'visions'_. Perhaps it helps in maintaining the illusion that Sam was the same little Sammy of their stolen childhood. Dean chose not to acknowledge the possibility of him turning evil. And he had hung on to his big brother's belief like a desperate sailor hanging on to a broken piece of wood in the midst of a hellish storm.

"Just the same one about this woman with wavy shoulder length blond hair and blue eyes in her forties living in Bayport screaming as she burnt to death… I can't even be certain she's the next one. But, whatever was killing those women was looking for her, I am certain of it." Sam responded with a regretful shake of his head. He wished he had more control over his psychic gifts.

"We'll find her before that monster," Dean replied reassuringly.

Sam smiled. That was Dean's way of telling him, it wasn't his fault each time they failed to prevent a death he saw in his dreams.

Then he frowned in his mind and wondered why he did not tell Dean about his second set of visions. It bothered him somewhat that he could not trust or could not talk to Dean on it. Just as quickly, that mild feeling of unease melted away, leaving him free to recall those visions and ponder over them curiously. The image of a blond-headed teenager with sparkling deep blue eyes on a smiling face formed in his mind. Sam had felt a certain… connection… from the first time he saw that youth in his visions. He would be seeing that youth soon, he knew. And that youth would be important to him in the near future, he also knew.

"Here we are. Why not you go get us a room? I'll go grab some munchies from 7-Eleven over there, huh?" Dean interrupted Sam's reverie and was a little unnerved as he thought he caught a glimpse of something in his brother's eyes before it vanished. Then it was the eyes of the brother he knew before him again.

"Don't worry Dean, I'll find a way out for you, or join you. I won't leave you down there alone," his younger brother suddenly spoke up.

"And no one would dare hurt you while I'm there," Sam added almost absent-mindedly as he opened the car door, grabbed his backpack and strode swiftly towards motel lobby.

Dean stared at his brother's retreating back as Azazel's words came back to taunt him with a vengeance.

_'Are you sure what came back was 100 percent Sam?'_

And;

_'But thanks to you, Sammy's back in rotation. I wasn't counting on that, but I'm glad.'_

His heart started to pound again.

"Bobby said demons lie all the time," Dean reminded himself.

But, why were they here? Because Sam happened to chance upon the news on those killings around Bayport, Dean recalled. Suddenly, he felt a chill ran through him and shivered involuntarily despite the brightness of the morning sun.

**_---xxxSUPERNATURALxxx---_**


	3. Chapter Two

PK and Red:

I'm so sorry I emailed TA the wrong files for posting. Prologue is essentially the same, but some difference in chapter one. And yes, this trilogy is written as a Hardy Story in Supernatural-verse. And sadly, one does need to know something of both Supernatural and Hardy Boys for this story. I hope this clears things up somewhat. TA will still be doing the rest of the postings in the meantime. (Thanks, TA).My back still hurts - I re-strain it, then both me and baby got food poisoning while my hubby got his first taste of Hong Kong flu. On top of that, my broadband connection is really wonky and no one had any idea why yet.

OK- TA over to you. Cheers, Nomi.

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**The One That Got Away**

By Nomi

CHAPTER 2

**Initial Impressions**

It was about half past ten in the morning, and a bunch of teenagers were sitting down on a half-cleared lawn taking a break from their morning exertions and chatting. They were all good friends attending the same high school. They and their parents were currently helping Biff and his father clear the mess left behind by the fire and the aftermath. The police had finally finished with their crime scene investigations, and the surviving family members were allowed to move back into their partially burnt down home.

"You know, this whole place is starting to feel like a ghost town rather than the homey Bayport I grew up in," Callie Shaw commented to her friends as she sipped on her ice-lemonade.

Eighteen year old dark haired Frank Hardy recalled his drive over to the Hooper's residence two hours back and had to agree with his girlfriend.

Today should have been one of those lovely Saturday mornings; the sky was clear and blue, and the air smelled fresh and crisp after a light but rare pre-dawn shower. Parents should be bringing their kids out to the numerous outdoor parks and woods for a little morning fun and exercise. Innocent childish laughter should fill the air, complementing loud chirping from the various birds that flew freely in nature-friendly Bayport. Yet as he drove, he could see that the playgrounds were bare, and the parks were empty. Even the greenery seemed duller than they should be.

"I hope they catch that serial killer soon," Chet Morton said fervently. "Mom's chafing over the fact that Dad insists someone accompany her wherever she goes."

Sympathetic looks were passed around the group. They all understood Chet's feelings all too well. An irritated mom makes a jittery home, and a very uncomfortable house to go home to.

"Tell me about it, Chet," Jerry Gilroy added glumly. "My mom's getting downright hostile about her lack of personal space. I got cold bread and jam instead of my usual warm buttered toast this morning."

Frank winced at the memory of his own cold breakfast. Given that all their moms were helping to clean up the interior of the house, Frank was struck by this sudden image of all their moms sitting around the kitchen table sipping tea and plotting to make their kids and husband's lives as uncomfortable as their own. He shook that ridiculous image away. It was clear all the mothers were chafing under the dual strain of the lack of personal space and fear of the killer.

Mrs. Angela Hooper was only the first of the victims. Since then five other women had been killed in a similar way at the rate of one every two or three days. Those six grisly inexplicable fiery murders were committed over a mere fifteen days. That was why the entire town was in jitters. Police had warned all matured age women in their forties to take extra care and to try not to be alone at home.

The Bayport Police Department had been working overtime trying to track and apprehend that psychopathic serial killer. So far they had been unsuccessful. The rate of the murders had forced the Town Council to approve an emergency budget to hire several members of the public sector of various expertises to assist in profiling and locating the killer, dubbed "Firestarter" by a number of local tabloids.

His father, Fenton Hardy, was a well-known PI. Fenton was one of those 'experts' roped in to assist in the police e in the past week.

"I supposed we can't ask you for details on the case, can we?" Phil Cohen asked his best friend.

"You know dad can't divulge information related to the case, guys. It might interfere with the investigation," Frank answered as he shook his head regretfully.

"You and Joe are not helping out with the case this time?" Tony Prito asked, surprised. Mr. Hardy often let his sons help out with the grunt work whenever possible.

"We are, but only peripherally this time," Frank said. "Dad made it clear that our first priority is to make sure mom's safe and never alone. Looking at the profiles of all the victims so far, I agree."

A silence settled on the group of friends as they spared a moment to remember the dead. Bayport was a small town, and almost everybody knew almost everybody else. The tragedy struck a little close to home this time, Frank admitted.

The latest victim was killed just last night. Her name was Mrs. Beatrice Carson and she lived just three blocks away from the Hardy residence with her teenage son. Mrs. Carson always reserved her largest homemade lollipop every Halloween for him and Joe every year when they went 'tricks and treating' as kids.

Then Phil's voice broke through the respectful silence.

"So, Frank, how do you feel being on the list of suspects that the fancy profiler from New York City drew up?" Phil's question, asked in the most casual tone, sent a ripple of shock, then anger through that group of close knitted friends.

"What are you talking about, Phil?" Callie demanded indignantly.

The others simply looked towards Frank and waited for him to respond. Liz Webling, whose father owned the local daily, The Bayport Times, sat up straight, instantly on full alert mode.

"Off the record, Liz," Frank responded calmly and chuckled as Liz groaned.

Frank waited for her to give a rather reluctant nod of consent before continuing.

"I supposed you are on the suspect list too?" Frank asked Phil, and watched as the others gape at the studious lad. That would one possible reason why Phil guessed that he was on that list.

"Aye," Phil confirmed. "They came and asked some questions yesterday."

"Are those smart-asses from New York crazy or something?!" Tony exploded.

"Actually, I would have questioned their competency if they didn't have me on their list of suspects," Frank said, surprising everyone. "But I am surprise you were on the list, Phil… ah, wait, the Dexter's and the Mariner's homes made use of your dad's company's latest security" systems."

Phil nodded.

"That still doesn't explain why the two of you were suspects!" Chet protested. "Surely those people can't be serious."

"It's in the profiling. I am guessing that there must be some tip off mentioning a young man or some young men walking away from the crime scene, am I right?" Liz asked, taking note that both Frank and Phil were dark haired and about the same height, though Frank's more muscular than Phil.

Frank smiled; Liz's guess wasn't that far off from what he knew.

"As you ready from the various media outlets, there were no signs of forced entry and all phone outlets were disabled, suggesting either a familiarity with each of the homes, or that the killer must have staked out the place for a while. The tightness of the time gap between each kill suggests the possibility of someone local. The fire burn quick and hot leaving behind no trace of what started it off in the first place – the temperature was so high hardly any part of the body was left behind for the forensic pathologist later. One way such a fire can be achieved would be through the controlled use of chemical flammables. Given that the police had no suspects, it is logical to take into consideration all the locals with good knowledge of chemistry as possible suspects. Given that all the victims were female, the profiler would logically tag the killer 'most probably male'. It would also be reasonable to presume that the killer would be someone young and strong," Frank explained without answering Liz's question.

And everyone knew Frank represented Bayport High at the National Chemistry Olympics last year. Phil represented their school in the Mathematics and Physics Olympics. Still, each took their time to digest what Frank just said.

"Biff's taking his mom's death pretty hard," Chet commented as he looked at his friend sitting alone at the end of the partially cleaned verandah.

"He shouldn't be alone over there," Tony muttered as he made to go over to his friend.

"Biff needs time and space to grieve, Tony. Give him that," Frank called out.

"How… ah…" Callie's voice tapered off as she answered her own question. Frank had to take care of Joe after his girlfriend, Iola, was killed in a car explosion just three months back. She felt a familiar sadness rise again. Iola Morton was her best friend.

"Frank's right, give him his space," Iola's big brother, Chet, concurred quietly. And Tony understood.

"And Joe… How's he?" Callie asked her boyfriend as she turned her eyes on the other person of their group that chose to sit alone by the only tree in the Hooper's backyard. "I noticed that he had been more tired and withdrawn lately."

Everyone knew that Joe took Iola's death hard. They knew from Frank that Joe had fiery nightmares for weeks after that ill-fated explosion. It was reasonable to assume that the recent fiery murders must have affected their friend somewhat. So they sat by and watched as Frank excused himself to go over to his brother.

Yes, Frank confessed the other reason why his involvement in this case was minimal was partially because of Joe. His dad was worried how the similarity between the current killings and Iola's death would affect Joe. Nevertheless, the father had kept his sons up to date with the findings of the case and even solicits their help for some basic groundwork. Fenton believed that the knowledge would help his sons protect their mother better. Frank could see that his father was right as usual. Joe had started getting nightmares again. Frank knew, even though his kid brother chose not to talk about it, because he could hear the screams of terror nightly for the last week.

_Still, it is up to Joe when he feels ready to talk about it,_ Frank thought as he approached his younger brother.

That statement was a reflection of his faith in his brother's ability to handle that resurgence of nightmares. He was also confident that Joe would share the details of those nightmares when he was ready. So he simply reached out with his hand and placed it comfortingly on Joe's shoulder. He knew his brother would understand what that meant.

Joe sat alone under the shade of the tree, thinking about his dreams. It was true that he had been sleeping badly for the last two weeks. At first he thought he was remembering Iola's death in that explosion all over again. But as the fiery explosive nightmares returned night after night, growing in length and details, he knew it was something else. Then there were those women's fiery deaths. And last night… last night's dream… He could not help but shudder as the images went through his mind again.

That was when Joe felt the weight of his brother's hand on his shoulder and it calmed him a little. Frank's grip on his shoulder was light yet firm. As always, big brother's hand was steady and reassuring. For a short moment, he just sat there and enjoyed that quiet moment with his brother, letting the comfort Frank offered flow through him.

"Thanks, big bro," he said after a while.

"You're welcome, kiddo," his brother responded with the usual.

"I'm scared, Frank," Joe blurted out. This might not be the best place to be sharing confidences, but sometimes, there was no such thing as a best time or a best place.

"Share it with me?"

"I've been having dreams," he started.

Frank nodded and listened as he always did.

"Only that I think they're not really dreams."

He could see Frank's eyebrows raised in surprise.

"It started several nights before Mrs. Hooper was killed. The first dream was just a fire burning, the blue flames reaching out hungrily as if trying to grab something. Over the nights, it gets longer and more detailed. It always starts with a fire burning. Then there was the ceiling. The next to appear was a faceless woman who was held to that ceiling by some invisible force. She was bleeding from her stomach. Then a fire exploded out of her, the angry flames licking and consuming her flesh. I could feel the pain as her skin melts away in the heat. I could feel her terror…" he felt a shiver ran through him as he recalled the feel of her terror.

"Joe…" Frank wanted to explain to Joe that those dreams were likely just a reflection of everything his brother read or heard in the last two weeks manifesting as nightmares, but Joe cut him off.

"No! Let me finish. Last night, I had the most detailed dream to date. It started like always with a fire. Except this time, I could see the face clearly. It was mom. She was burning and screaming. And I was there, watching. Just watching…" Joe turned his troubled eyes to his brother. "Frank, I just stood there and watch… watch her burn to death."

Frank could feel his own heart pounding. There was something haunting in his brother's voice, a remoteness that drew him in. And there was an intensity emanating from Joe's eyes that sent chills down his spine. He could almost swear he felt the temperature about him dropped ten degrees. He shook his head a little to clear his mind. The tensions from the recent murders must be starting to get to him as well. Joe's not the type that would stand and watch others suffer. His kid brother's always the first to jump in to help anyone in trouble; that's why Joe's always in trouble himself in the first place.

"I think those are visions." Joe continued softly. "And I'm afraid, because I have this inexplicable feeling that mom's going to die, and there's nothing I can do to prevent it. Does that make sense?"

Frank opened his mouth but nothing came out. He was a logical person and do not believe in such things as the supernatural and visions. Ye t it was equally clear to him that Joe was serious this time. And Frank acknowledged that it is entirely possible for the serial killer to target their mom. Laura Hardy fit the current known victim profile of the serial killer: A matured age woman in her forties and a mother of teenage sons.

"The killer won't get mom. We won't let it happen, period." Frank said finally, infusing every bit of confidence he could into his voice.

Then someone was calling out to them. Both brothers stood up a little reluctantly. Frank caught Joe's hand in a firm and reassuring grip. _We'll talk when we get home_, he told his kid brother with his eyes. Joe acknowledged his brother's assurance gratefully.

"Hey Frank, Joe, there're two FBI agents here right now talking to Biff and his dad. Think you two can find out what's happening?" Chet asked them excitedly.

Frank and Joe exchanged glances, surprised. It's unusual for FBI agents to do home visits on weekends. The two of them excused themselves and headed towards the living room.

"Ah, Frank, Joe, come over," Mr. Alexander Hooper invited the moment he saw them step into the living room.

"This is Special Agent Dean Winston," Mr. Hooper did the introductions. "And this is Special Agent Sam Kerr. This is Frank, and this is Joe. Their father, Fenton Hardy, is a well-known PI and is currently involved with the investigation. These two are also helping out. So they probably know more about the case then I do."

The four of them shook hands, eyed each other carefully, and smiled politely. But one could not miss the tension among the four of them.

Mr. Hooper supposed the FBI agents did not like the idea of kids interfering with what they considered to be adult work. Then again, those two agents were outsiders and had no knowledge of what the Hardy brothers were capable of.

Sam was staring at Joe and struggling to keep his shock from expression. That blond headed teenager was the boy in his visions. He had not expected to run into the boy so quickly. So the teen's name is Joe. Joe Hardy. Sam committed that name to memory. He could feel a connection flared between the two of them the moment they had eye contact. He saw Joe's eyes widened almost imperceptibly and knew that boy felt it too.

_We'll have to catch up later somehow_, he thought, and was surprise to feel something akin to a window or door slamming shut at him. He retreated into his own mind and soon locates the mental path to the lad's mind. Perhaps he should have questioned how he knew what to do. But he did not. Instead, he felt elated at the knowledge that he gained a new skill – telepathy. The lad had somehow shut him out at the moment. But Sam knew, with that mental path, he could locate the boy later. He retreated for the moment, and let Dean handle the current situation.

Joe felt the weight of Sam's eyes on him. It made him uncomfortable for some reason. Yet he felt a sense of déjà vu, as if he knew that guy from before somewhere. But he knew for a fact their paths never crossed as far as he could remember. He also knew from Sam's carefully controlled expression that the agent was feeling something similar. It was a strange feeling.

Then he felt something in his mind from Sam. No, he heard something that only he could hear in his mind. _We'll have to catch up … _His reaction was instinctive and immediate. He visualized a door and slammed it shut as hard as he could.

_What just happened? _Joe wondered, bewildered. His head was pounding and he could feel the start of a really bad migraine hitting him.

Frank Hardy did not like the way the one called Sam was eyeing his brother. But he liked the cocky devil may care attitude of the other agent even less.

"I do not remember seeing you around. You must be new on the investigation team. Things must be heating up, since I know it's not FBI policy to pay home visits on a Saturday morning unless there are some key developments," Frank commented casually to the older looking agent. "Sorry, I did not catch your name. Do you mind if I have a look at your ID?"

"Sure," Dean replied with a smile and he flashed his ID swiftly at the teen's face before quickly pocketing it. "Special Agent Dean Winston. You can call me Dean. We've just been assigned to assist the investigation given the high priority status."

_I hate smart alec kids, fresh out of school and thinking they know everything_, Dean thought. _Man, they barely knew the half of the world they live in. Not the mention the other darker half. And just my luck to bump into one first thing in the morning._

Frank's eyes narrowed. There's something fishy about those two, he was certain. Nevertheless he smiled. He got the names, and that's all he need for the moment. He could get Joe to do the sketch later if needed be. They exchanged a few more pleasantries before the two agents bid them farewell and left most amicably.

It was then that he noticed Joe's pain-glazed eyes. Beads of sweat dotted his brother's brow, and his face was so pale, it was white.

"You okay?" Frank asked as he helped his brother down onto a seat.

"I think so…" Joe groaned. His skull felt like it had just been given a workout banging against the wall or something similar.

"I think you might be coming down with flu or something. You should go home and rest." Mr. Hooper said concern clear in his tone. "Don't worry, there's more than enough people here helping out."

"I'll go get your mom," Biff offered and head up the stairs.

Just a little over half an hour later, after tucking his brother into bed and leaving his mother cooking lunch in the kitchen, Frank made his way into his father's office. He promised his dad that they would take another thorough look at all the victims' profiles. But first, he had a call to make.

He picked up the phone in the privacy of his father's office and rang Sam Radley, his father's business associate and partner.

"Hello Sam, Frank here, I need you to help me look into the background of these two FBI agents: Sam Kerr and Dean Winston…"

**_---xxxSUPERNATURALxxx---_**


	4. Chapter Three

Here's the next chapter. Enjoy. -TA

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**The One That Got Away**

By Nomi

CHAPTER 3

**The Photograph on the Wall **

"Okay Sam, what just happened in there?" Dean asked his brother as soon as they got back into their car.

"You and that dark-haired teen got off on a bad start?" Sam quipped as he fiddled with the car's old clunky radio. "And I think we should join the digital revolution and upgrade this analogue antique."

"I'm talking about what's going on between you and that golden boy back there and you knew it, Sam," Dean refused to get distracted.

"Nothing…"

"Nothing?" Dean's tone was clearly disbelieving.

"Well, he looked familiar… sort of…" Sam hemmed and hawed a little uncomfortably.

"Sort of?" Dean questioned further. _Was Sam hiding something?_ He started to wonder.

Suddenly Sam perked up and stared at the radio.

"Shhh…. Listen!" He hissed urgently.

It was a news report on another murder that occurred just last night. That would be the sixth victim.

"You got the name?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, a Mrs. Carson," Sam replied. "Let's go find some net access and see if we could get her address from the yellow pages online…"

There were only four Carsons listed under Bayport, New York. An hour later, the brothers made their way over the familiar yellow colored crime scene cordon and into the empty house. The police had spent the entire night till dawn profiling the place and had left. The EMF sensor that Sam carried started to beep as soon as they entered the front door. Sam and Dean exchanged grim nods. They had their confirmation that something Supernatural was killing all those women. And they had to find out what and why as quickly as possible. The two brothers got to work on the crime scene.

It was an hour later when Dean made his way back into the living room to see his brother carefully studying an old framed photograph on the wall. He was about to approach Sam when a soft but authoritative voice cut through the quiet of the Carson home.

"Can't you see that this is an active crime scene?" Fenton snapped at them. "I suggest you leave your leave now before I have you charged for interfering with criminal investigations and destruction of material evidence."

Dean and Sam swiveled around to see a tall well build man in his mid forties standing at the door, arms akimbo with a very annoyed expression on his face.

Dean suddenly felt small before that man. It was like getting caught with his hands in the cookie jar by his father. Of course, that never really happened in his real life. His childhood was filled with monsters and nightmares, and not cookie jars. A quick glance at Sam's expression told him that his brother felt exactly like he did.

"And please leave your memory card behind. I will not have you two writing sensational lies and causing more grief," Fenton added in a mildly threatening tone, his hand gesturing casually at the camera in Sam's hand. He hoped that would be enough to chase those two off; he really rather not waste time dealing with persistent nosy reporters.

Perhaps it was the presumption that they were lowly tabloid reporters, or perhaps it was his hidden childhood resentment with his very curt and strict father who was always telling him what he could do better. But Dean let it pushed him into doing what he knew he should not. There were certain people one should never play the FBI line with, and the man before him was one of them. He ignored his own warnings.

"Special Agent Dean Winston and Sam Kerr," Dean introduced himself in his most authoritative voice as he flashed his fake FBI badge at Fenton. "And you are?"

_So he thought we're nosy reporters, huh?! That aught to put him in his place!_ Dean thought with a sense of satisfaction. His confidence took a slight hit when the older man did not look impressed but instead looked downright suspicious.

"Fenton Hardy, lead investigator in this case. And I am surprised that I was not informed that two new FBI agents were assigned. Since the two of you are clearly not locals; where are you from?" Fenton did not bother to hide the disbelief from his voice.

"St. Louis," Sam quickly answered when he noted Dean was a little slow. But he could not shake the feeling that he was digging himself a deeper hole. And St. Louis was a mistake, he knew.

"I have a number of friends from St. Louis. I suppose you know Agent Kohler?"

When he heard that tone in Fenton's voice, Sam knew they had to walk out while that man was still giving them the chance. But for some reason, Dean could not, or refused to take that hint. And he groaned inwardly at Dean's response.

"You might know my mentor's mentor, Mr. Hardy, but I certainly would not know him," Dean shot back.

Sam quickly stepped in and interceded when he saw the dark clouds literally gathering on the older man's face.

"We're done here, Mr. Hardy," Sam said in his most placating tone as he placed a memory card on the table, before he tried to physically move his brother towards the door. _Let's go while we still can; we're still on the FBI wanted list from St. Louis and Milwaukee…_ he hissed under his breath to Dean.

"I think you should listen to your big brother, Dean. He's clearly the one with some brains here," Fenton said as he took in Dean's rather childish mutinous expression. Somehow, that set stubborn expression reminded him of his younger son during his adolescent years. Perhaps that was why he was giving them a way out now. "And, you should know, FBI agents do not take pictures at crime scenes with a Sony Handycam." Fenton could not resist adding. Then he wondered why he bothered with a bunch of kids fresh out of journalism school who probably watched one too many Hollywood movies.

"I do not know where you pilfer that badge from, but if I see that in use again, I will not hesitate to have you charged with stealing and impersonating an officer of the law," Fenton warned as he watched the taller darker haired male literally bundling the other one out of the house.

Fenton was surprised when the one called Sam suddenly stilled before turning to face him. He found himself totally drawn in by the intensity of Sam's dark eyes. He barely suppressed a shiver.

"My brother and I are here to help, Mr. Hardy. We've seen and known of killers the likes of which you have never seen and will never see. Know that your threats do not scare us."

Dean stared at his little brother in shock. The shock was big enough to overcome his anger from the insult of being mistaken as the 'kid' brother when he was actually four years older than Sam. _Where did that Sam come from? _He could not help but wonder. He could sense the aura of power flaring from Sam for that fraction of a second. The expression on Fenton Hardy's face told him the older man had the same experience. Again, the Demon's words flashed before him. He shook those doubts away. Sam was his brother, and he knew his brother. He took a deep breath and quickly followed his brother back to his car. He felt better the moment his hand touched his beloved Impala. It was the one thing he had that was a constant sturdy part of his life. His Impala was always dark and weather-beaten, his Impala had always been there for him, and his Impala never let him down. His was a sad lonely life with a car as his best friend.

Fenton had to stop himself from taking a step backwards. He wasn't quite certain if that flash of something he felt was a threat. But he could be certain that Sam knew what he was talking about regarding their first hand experiences with killers. That was clear in the darkness that shadowed the depths of his eyes. It was the darkness of having witness terrible things that ones of their youth should not have. And it was also the darkness of loss. Now that he thought about it, the darkness was in the other brother's eyes too. So they were brothers, Fenton thought. And that parting shot was a protective gesture of one brother towards another, Fenton realized. Just like his sons, Frank and Joe. He felt his heart softened towards them a little.

He walked over to the table and pocketed the memory card before turning his attention back to the crime scene. Fenton could only hope that those two brothers had not compromise the crime scene in anyway. He sighed. The case was wearing everyone down. The bureaucratic and public pressure on his team to solve the case was immense. Yet they had no clues, no leads, and no motives with which to work from. The killer could be anyone out there, literally. That was why he chose to skip lunch and to return here to the crime scene. There was something bugging him about the crime scene, and he hoped to be able to find something that could help move the investigation to the next level, and hopefully before the killer strikes again.

So far, he had been unable to put his finger on it. The well-known PI admitted that it could just simply be a case of him missing obvious clues because he was tired. His unease could also logically be attributed to the fact that the latest victim was killed only three blocks from his house. The serial killer struck close to home this time. Fenton took several deep breaths to refresh himself. He should have more faith in his team's ability to gather all obvious evidence. But a part of him could not help but to hope that someone missed something somewhere so they could have the break they so desperately needed.

Someone somewhere's going to die soon, Fenton knew with absolute certainty. And that someone would be a person he knew. It would be someone whom he or Laura had talked to sometime in the past. It might even be someone they had dinner with during the last few weeks!

That last thought strengthened Fenton's resolve again. He took another detailed look about the house before returning, a little dejected, to the living room after an hour of fruitless search. He had to return to the police station since lunch break was long over. He took a final look about the now cold and empty living room. The bright yellow marker that showed the severed phone line, burnt off by an unknown method. He smiled a little at the number of photographs that graced the west wall. The Carsons loved taking photographs, and those were their favorites.

Then a memory flashed through his mind. That darker haired fellow, Sam, was focusing on a particular photograph. Which one was that? He closed his eyes and recalled that instant in time again. There, that one in the center! Fenton moved swiftly before that photograph.

It was a class photograph, held lovingly within a wooden handcrafted frame. He remembered the story of that frame; Beatrice Carson had told that tale many times, in loving memory of her father who carved it to hold the photograph which the old man was so proud of. Beatrice was the first in the family to graduate with a diploma. The heading of the photograph, written in a classic calligraphic script, read:

**_The Class of 1983, Bayport Nursing College_**

That was twenty three years ago. And the bottom of that picture was a list of names of the twenty two graduates of that year.

Fenton's eyes widened. He could not believe that those two fake FBI impersonating brothers actually saw something an entire team of investigators missed. All six victims were graduates of that class. They now had something reasonably concrete to work on. And as in most cases, the break was something simple and straightforward. In this case, it was a framed photograph on the wall.

He pulled his handkerchief out of his pants pocket and carefully removed that photograph from the wall. He was about to rush back to the police station when something else occurred to him. Those two brothers implied a certain familiarity with killers. Or did they imply a familiarity with this particular killer? The way the two of them behave, especially the one called Dean, was as if there was something personal about it. Had this particular killer struck before?

He had to find them, Fenton decided. They might know something else that would be useful. Actually, they probably know more than they are telling, he amended.

Something told the seasoned PI that the brothers were not impersonating FBI agents for the first time. Those two might be using standard lines from TV series and movies, but they did it with confidence and style, telling Fenton that they had some practice with it.

Fenton reached for his cell phone to call his partner, Sam Radley. He needed a favor.

"Hey Sam, Fenton here," he started off as soon as his partner picked up the phone. "I need you to check up on two young men impersonating FBI agents. They go by the name Dean Winston and…"

"… and Sam Kerr." Sam finished off for Fenton. "I got a call from Frank not too long ago with the same request."

_Ah, so those two have been busy_, Fenton thought.

"Did Joe get a look at them?"

"Yes, they met at the Hoopers this morning," Sam answered.

"Good. Get Joe to do a sketch of them both. I ran into them at the Carsons, and they just left a lead that might break the case. I would like to talk to them and ask a few more questions. I'm certain you won't find any Dean Winston or Sam Kerr on the FBI staff list, but I am equally certain they were using their real names: Sam and Dean. See what you can find out about them, I want a background profile on both… and if that's not enough to start on… take a quick look at St. Louis…"

"Will see what I can come up with, Fenton."

"Thanks pal."

While making his way back to his temporary office at Bayport Police Station, he scanned the list of names on that photograph. All those potential victims would have to be forewarned and placed under some form of protection. Then he paled; there, the first person on the right in the second row smiling sweetly back at him, was his wife, Laura Hardy.

**_---xxxSUPERNATURALxxx---_**


	5. Chapter Four

And the next chapter. Enjoy. -TA

Lady Emily: I told Nomi you ref that Joe got "the shining" in your lovely review. She's very happy. Thanks. - TA

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A/N: This is the chapter you asked for specifically, PK. What's the difference between natural and supernatural detective work? This is my puny attempt at trying to answer that: it's in the questions they asked. For Supernatural fans, here is where I diverged from the main story line somewhat.

**The OneThat Got Away**

By Nomi

CHAPTER FOUR

**Private vs. Paranormal Investigators**

It was eight in the evening and the Hardys had just finished a quick dinner where Fenton had given a quick brief on the latest development on the ongoing investigation. Now they gathered in their living room for a serious family and case discussion in the light of the latest revelations.

Laura Hardy was curled up in her favorite rocking chair, a hand-woven quilt drawn comfortably about her. She appeared to be reading, but was in fact observing the three most important men in her life gathered around her favorite coffee table. It was a very special coffee table; her husband and sons made it the year Joe decided to try out a carpentry course. It was a clunky looking thing, but Laura loved it; it was the birthday gift Joe wanted to make, and Fenton finished up with Frank's help, for her. So that coffee table sat on its place of honor, the posh Old Persian carpet inherited from grandpa, right in the center of the living room for the last four years, despite the fact that it looked totally out of place in the classic style living room.

Frank sat cross legged at one end of the table, quietly and meticulously reviewing his data on the profiles of all the women from the list his father provided. It did not matter that he had gone through that list several times. Each time he went through it, he noted something new that may or may not contribute to the case. Such was the truth of real life detective work, grinding through piles and piles of seemingly useless data, finding that link that would turn those data into meaningful information. Every once in a while he would glance over at Joe just to make sure that his brother was all right.

Joe was sprawled on the floor next to his brother, a large map of Bayport spread out before him. His Dad had just officially given the two of them the green light to investigate the case on their own on the condition that they continue to keep Mom's safety their top priority, and that they kept him informed of whatever progress they made. So to get a feel of the serial killer's geo-spatial movements, Joe carefully marked the locations of all the victims on the map. To that, he added the time of the murders and a small photograph of each victim. Then he proceeded to add the potential victims and their photographs to his map.

Fenton sat on the comfy arm chair at the other end of that large wooden coffee table from Frank, swiftly scanning through a set of printouts that he just received from his partner, Sam Radley. It was rare for Laura to sit in when he and his sons reviewed details of their cases. But this time, he felt it was necessary that his wife join in the discussion. The two unexpected developments had meant the case had taken a sinister turn.

Firstly, the framed photograph from Carson had placed Laura on the list of potential targets. That also meant that there might be something from Laura's past that could help with the case. Given that Laura, like all other middle-age women in town, was starting to chafe under the stress due to a lack of freedom of movement and privacy, having her on the case discussion might also helped impressed on her the gravity of the situation and the danger she was currently in.

Secondly, there was the issue of how the Carson murder was carried out. Unlike the five previous cases, Mrs. Beatrice Carson was not alone at home. Mr. Carson's and his son's testimonies were incredible: They were watching the nine o'clock news downstairs when they heard a piercing scream. They rushed up the stairs to the bedroom only to see the fire burning out on the ceiling leaving behind a shadowed patch the shape of a human being, and a pool of blood and something else on the floor. The speed at which the murder was executed was unbelievable. The killer had grown bolder, his confidence buoyed by the series of successive kills he got away with, the Profiling Expert concluded. Fenton now truly feared for Laura's life.

"What have you got, Frank?" Fenton asked his eldest when he finished perusing his notes.

"Nothing," Frank admitted a little tiredly. "The only relevant information from these texts is: all twenty-two of them graduated together and that they all knew each other. But in a small town like this one, that's hardly useful information. Nothing about the six victims that stands out; and nothing there that tells us why they were killed in that order either. I crossed referenced against birth-dates, grades, even height and body weight. I'm really clutching at straws here, Dad."

"Joe?"

"Nothing beyond the known facts for the six victims, Dad: the killer strike at roughly between half past eight and nine. The victims are scattered across Bayport. However, once you factor in the list of potential targets, looking at the photographs, I think we might be able to guess who the next three might be…"Joe's voiced tapered off as the rest of his family turned to face him.

Frank leaned over to have a closer look at the map his brother set up when Joe's voice started to taper off. He gasped. All the victims were blonde, and there were only three blondes amongst the potential targets, including Mom. An indrawn breath from his Dad told him his father saw the same thing Joe did.

"Dad, please tell me someone on the team figured out how the murder was conducted or figured out the motive? Surely the labs should have found out at least a tiny trace of whatever chemicals that was used?" Frank asked his Dad. All he needed was one chemical and he could start experimenting for a potential combination of flammables used. With that, they could then backtrack and narrow down a list of potential suspects with the knowledge, the capability, and the access to those chemicals. "Then we can start narrowing down on a list of suspects?" Frank added.

Fenton sighed – they had no list of suspects and his sons knew that. The one that got his sons on it doesn't count as far as he was concerned. He took in the three sets of eyes looking earnestly at him and felt his heart constricts just a little. He would have to disappoint them this time.

"You know as well as I do, son – all the grisly details of the murder. We had no idea how it was done, much less why. Somehow, the body was pinned to the ceiling and then burnt. The fire was so hot nothing was left of the body. It was as if the body was cremated. The only reason why we know the victim was gutted before she was burnt was the residual pool of blood and something else located directly below where the body was burnt. Without a body, our forensics team had no way of determining if the victim was burnt alive, or gutted and killed before…" Fenton stopped when he noted that Laura was starting to look a little green.

"Surely there must be some trace of whatever the killer was using to start that fire?" Frank asked. There must be something that they could use! He thought a little desperately. If what Joe spotted was right, then they had between three and nine days to figure out the serial killer's game. That was not a lot of time.

"The forensic team had gone through all those crime scenes a dozen times under a microscope, Frank. There was nothing but human ashes. Whatever chemical compound that was used was burned up totally and cleanly," Fenton repeated.

"What about those two brothers masquerading as FBI agents?" Frank pressed on, remembering that his Dad voiced some suspicions about those two earlier. "Do you think they might know something?"

"They might know something, or they might just be lucky in spotting that photograph. We won't know until we find them," Fenton responded tiredly.

They were at another dead end at the moment. The investigator picked up his cell phone and made a call to the police to request increased patrol to the area where the three women Joe helped identified lived, including his own home. That was when he realized that his younger son had been uncharacteristically quiet. His brows furrowed with worry; Joe was always the one that continue with outlandish ideas and suggestions whenever he and Frank hit a dead end in the past. Once in a while, Joe actually hit the jackpot, but most of the time, those hilarious outlandish suggestions served to break the serious mood and helped them de-stress.

"Hey Joe, I could certainly make do with some of your wild ideas right now," Fenton asked his younger son, hiding his concern behind a light joking tone.

Joe merely lifted his eyes to him and stared straight back, his face absolutely expressionless. Fenton's breath caught in his throat at that sight.

"I know how the murder was committed," Joe finally said in a flat voice. "The killer entered by the back door. He made his way to where his target was. There he surprised her, and then gutted her with a knife he took from the kitchen, relishing in her pain and terror. Then he pinned her against the ceiling, where he turned her into a human fire bomb. Then he left. It was all over in minutes."

Fenton, Frank and Laura stared at Joe, shocked at what he just said. Joe continued to stare blankly into nothingness before him, seemingly unaware of his surroundings, and they were starting to get spooked by those unblinking shadowed eyes.

"Joe, how did you know what the killer did? And how did you know that the killer used the victim's kitchen knife?" Fenton asked gently, his own heart pounding with an inexplicable dread. The part about the kitchen knife as a murder weapon was kept secret from the public, even from his sons.

But Joe seemed not to hear him at all.

"Joe?" Frank called out softly to his brother. When Joe failed to respond, he reached out to gently shake his brother out of whatever held his brother captive within its grasp. Foremost in his mind was what Joe told him about those dreams just this morning.

"Joe?" He called out again, louder this time, and was taken aback by his brother's rather abrupt and almost violent reaction.

The parents and brother watched in deep concern as Joe shove Frank away and started scrambling backwards. A tiny squeak of terror escaped his throat. Then he was breathing heavily and staring back at them with wild and fearful eyes.

Fenton and Frank continued talking in a soft gently tone. Still, it was a while before the wildness in those blue orbs dissipated. The eyelids started to blink furiously. Another few more minutes passed before recognition started to appear in those eyes, and it settled unerringly on his big brother.

"Frank!" Joe cried out before grabbing on to his brother as if for his dear life.

Frank gritted his teeth to prevent himself from crying out at his brother's painfully tight grip on his arm. The sound of his brother's heavy breathing echoed loudly in his ear. He continued to whisper soothingly to his brother, hoping to calm him down further. Finally, he could feel Joe relaxing, and grip on his arm loosened. He watched as Joe slowly extricates himself from his arms, his face red from embarrassment.

"Sorry…" Joe mumbled softly to no one in particular.

"Joe, how did you know about the knife?" Fenton asked his son when it feels like everyone had calmed down somewhat. "And why did you say you know how those murders were committed?"

Joe gulped. How could he explain that? It all started as dreams. But what happened just now… the fear grew and bloomed as he was forced to consider that possibility. His Dad was right – how did he know about the knife? That was the one evidence he could not ignore. God, how would his family take what he was about to tell them? He could feel everyone's eyes on him. He returned the eye contact, and saw the love and concern in every pair of those eyes. A kind of peace settled on him. His family loved him, and that was all that mattered.

"I know because I saw them. I just saw them in detail. I saw the journey through the backdoor into the Hooper's home, and a hand reaching out to grab the third knife from the block of seven. I saw the relief on Mrs. Hooper's face as she recognized whoever the killer was before she was gutted. I could feel her terror; smell the coppery smell of blood, as she recognized who her assailant was. Then she was lifted onto the ceiling by an invisible force, and burnt alive…"

"Those vision-dreams of yours are getting very detailed…" Frank started.

"How did you know it was the third knife?" Fenton asked at the same time.

Frank turned to his father in shock. That level of coincidence would be far too improbable.

Joe turned towards his family with haunted eyes. "Do you think I could have killed them?" he asked.

"No!" three voices shouted out instantly at the same time.

"Of course not, Joe! You would never kill anyone, much less a close family friend like Mrs. Hooper," Laura admonished firmly.

"And we were at the Annual Father and Son Bowling Championship together the night Mrs. Hooper was killed, remember? You could not have killed her, Joe," Frank added empathically.

"But I went out for an hour long walk when you were playing, remember?" Joe reminded his brother. "I went out for a walk and lost track of time… or so I thought. But an hour is more than enough time to travel to the Hooper's home and back…"

"Okay, how about this: Mrs. Carson was killed at about eight last night and you were in bed during that time. I tucked you in at half past seven with a couple of aspirins, remember? You had another of those killer migraines…"

"And you did not check on me again until I came down for a late dinner at half pass nine," Joe cut in.

"All right, Joe. Then how are you going to explain the part where the victim got pinned to the ceiling; how did you manage that feat and what was used to burn them?" Fenton asked instead.

Joe opened his mouth but nothing came out.

"See, it can't be you. The reason why you can't answer this part of the crime is because none of us had any idea how it was done. The knife part was guessable because we do know she was gutted," Frank concluded reasonably. "Try not to let those dreams get to you, okay, little brother?"

Joe looked unconvinced.

Fenton's cell phone rang before Joe could answer his brother.

"Fenton here," the investigator said. "WHAT?! ... All right, I'll be there as soon as I can."

Then he turned to his family and said in a terse voice: "There's been another murder. Mrs. Margaret Gogh, one of the three women we just identified."

He could see Laura turning pale at his words.

"That would make two kills on two consecutive nights," Frank said quietly. "The serial killer's speeding up his kills."

"I have to go," the father said as he gave his wife a quick hug and kiss. Then he eyed his younger son worriedly. "At least we can now be certain it can't be you since you are definitely here with us for the last hour." He said to Joe.

"Don't worry, Dad. We'll take care of Mom," Frank assured his father. _And I will keep an eye on Joe too_, he told his Dad with his eyes and received the slightest nod in acknowledgement.

"Secure the house," Fenton told his sons. "Grab your sleeping bags and camp over in the master bedroom tonight. I'll try to arrange some additional security for tomorrow."

Then Fenton put on his coat and reluctantly left the house.

**_---supernatural---_**

"Where the seven heavens have you been?!" Dean near shouted at Sam the moment his brother opened the motel room door and walked in. "I've been worried sick about you."

He had been pacing the length of their room for the last half hour and had worked himself into a fine temper worrying about his brother. He even took several quick walks around the motel, but Sam was nowhere in sight.

"Sorry bro," Sam said. "I needed fresh air, when out for a walk and lost track of time… how long was I gone?"

Dean glared at his brother. He had left Sam working on the photos downloaded from the handycam's internal memory hard disk and gone out to get some takeaways for both of them. When he returned, the room was empty. He relaxed when he saw that note on the table in Sam's handwriting.

_Need some fresh air, back in 10 minutes. _

Except Sam was gone for far longer than that… and for a moment, he was terrified that some demon or another crazed hunter like Gordon had got their hands on his kid brother.

"At least half an hour!" Dean snapped back, the tensions and fears from the past thirty minutes getting the better of him. "And where the heck did you go? I've checked the lobby, the parking lot, and the terrace, and you weren't in those areas."

"I… I don't know…" Sam stuttered, a rather mystified and lost expression on his face. "I was just out there walking and enjoying the fresh night air."

At least Sam had the grace to look contrite, Dean groused. Then he caught that lost bewildered look on Sam's face. A memory of a much younger Sam flashed before his eyes; that fearful lost expression whenever the two of them had to spend the night alone when their Dad went out hunting alone. And he, the big brother was always there to chase away the shadows and the monsters. The anger melted out of him.

"Sorry for yelling at you, Sam," Dean apologized. "I was just worried…"

"I understand, Dean. And I am sorry for making you worry. But I really have no idea where I went. I just… walked and thought…about what we learnt so far. I lost track of time," Sam tried to explain what happened on his end. He had no idea how time flies.

"It's just that your note said 10 minutes, and when you did not come back, I thought something might have happened," Dean said softly. "I promised Dad to look after you."

"You must know that I am no longer a child. I can protect myself. IF I can't, I better learn fast. Have some faith in my abilities to take care of myself… please?" Sam answered.

Dean thought about what happened the last few weeks and how his brother managed to come to his rescue several times, and had to agree that Sam's right. His kid brother's grown up. And he had to let his kid brother grow up.

"I'll try to remember that," Dean promised. "But, no matter what, you'll always be my kid brother. Remember that too, okay?" He finished gruffly.

"'Kay," Sam answered softly, as the two brothers stood and shared that precious moment of brotherhood that they rarely let surface in their hectic demon hunting life.

"Okay, enough of that… maudlin. The food's cold and getting colder while we wait. We got things to do, demons to hunt and lives to save. Grab a quick bite and let's get to work, man!" Dean said finally. "So what have you got there, bro?"

"Questions and more questions, Dean," Sam said as he took a big bite of the burger his brother bought him. "We know Azazel's dead, so who's the one killing all those women and why? And none of the victims had any kids under the age of one – in fact all their kids are already teenagers in high school or in college. All those other kids that we found who are like me: their moms were killed before their first birthday."

"Yeah, on All Souls Day in the year of their birth," Dean remembered softly. He shivered as he remembered the night his mother was killed, his childish terror as he watched the flames swept through his home. He shook those memories away.

"This may be?" Dean wondered. "Or maybe somehow,

"And if you are so certain that blond woman in your dreams was the one the killer's looking for, then why were all those other woman killed?" Dean asked instead, as he shoved the last bit of his burger into his mouth.

"I have no idea," Sam replied as he started to mark down the locations of all the victims on the Yahoo! Map of Bayport that he just printed out from his laptop. "You can't really tell with just six victims, but there don't seem to be any patterns in the killings so far. And maybe this is a totally different situation from our case, maybe that's why the mothers' only are getting killed now."

"If a killer already has a target in mind, why would he kill all those other women?" Dean mused. "And maybe something happened back then and somehow, this particular mother survived all those years ago. And for some unknown reason, the creature's back for the one who got away…"

Sam eyed his brother's stuttered expression. Dean, like Dad, was always looking for a reason to berate themselves for failing Mom. Why could he not see that at four going five, there was absolutely nothing that he could do back then?

"Well, if she got away from Azazel somehow all those years back. Who or what is going after her now? And there are two possible logical reasons for your first question: One, for distraction, and two, he don't know who the real target is and kill all that fit the description just to be certain," Sam put forth his theories, hoping to distract his brother from those morose thoughts with serious work.

"Hey, you might have something there, bro!"

"Oh?"

"All the victims are pretty, even in their mid-forties." Dean laughed his brother's predictable reaction as Sam groaned at that lame attempt at humor. But he needed to lighten things up a bit. Sam's getting too serious lately.

"Come on Dean, get serious!" Sam growled irritably.

"I am serious, they are pretty!" Dean continued in good humor. "They're all blondes – just like that woman in your dreams. And talking about pretty women, what about that photograph you paid so much attention to at the Carson place?"

Sam reached out for the A4-sized print out of that old photograph. Dean could see that his brother circled a face on it.

"That's her, the woman I dreamt about, and someone's Mom," Sam said quietly, thinking of the mother he never knew except for what Dean told him and a much crumpled old photograph.

"I am still trying to enlarge and sharpen the picture, but I just can't see her name clearly." Sam added as he continued to fiddle with the jpeg file before sending it to print.

"But we know she's here, Sam. We'll find her before that creature does," Dean told his brother.

And he meant it. His mom was killed by a demon and he lost his chance at a normal childhood. Every kid should have one, and he would try his damnest to give that unknown kid what he did not have. He reached out for the colored print out of that unknown woman, took a close look at her, and commits her face to memory.

"We'll find you," he promised.

**_---xxxSUPERNATURALxxx--- _**


	6. Chapter Five

PK: I know you sent a number of critiques. Maybe you can send her a get-well e-card too? I can answer the trilogy question. Part 2: The Sins of Fathers, and Part 3: The Plague of the Second Born - TA

This is the last chapter I have. Will have to wait for Nomi to post or email me more from now on. So, enjoy chapter 5 -TA

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A/N: This is a more fractured chapter. I could not think of a better way of doing it. I hope it works. I've only read two SN-H-XO, First Impressions and Close Encounters by Phx. If anyone knows any others. Please let me know. Thanks.

**The OneThat Got Away**

By Nomi

CHAPTER FIVE

**Out of Time**

Dean was idly flicking his way through the various channels, waiting for Sam to finish his shower when something caught his attention.

Ten O'clock Breaking News: The unknown serial killer had strike again, not more than an hour ago, this time killing a Margaret Gogh, widowed owner of a horse farm and riding school located on the outskirts of Bayport. The son caught a glimpse of the killer and described him as a dark-haired, tall muscular young man. Police appealed to any witness who saw anything suspicious activity between 8:30pm and 9pm to come forward with information.

_Sam was missing during that time and he could not recall where he went, _Dean could not help that first thought from flashing through his mind. He remembered all to well what happened the last time Sam went missing without his memory back at Twin Lakes.

"Could it be me?"

Dean swiveled round at the sound of his brother's voice. Sam stood still by the bathroom door, a bath towel wrapped around his waist, his eyes glued to the TV screen.

"No," he finally answered a while later.

"How can you be certain?" Sam asked a haunted expression on his face. "I was gone during that time, I had no idea what happened, and someone died… just like last time…" Then he spluttered when Dean doused him with some water. _Holy water_, he realized.

"No adverse reaction, see?" Dean announced coolly. "And even if it's your body that does the killing, it's still the demon, not you, little bro. You did not kill those hunters back at Twin Lakes, and you certainly did not kill that woman an hour ago."

Then he realized Sam was no longer listening to him. His brother's eyes ware glassy and unseeing.

"Sam?" He called out, but also reached for the other bottle of holy water just in case.

_"Time… time… out of time…"_ Sam mumbled.

Suddenly, Sam's eyes cleared and his brother was grabbing his pants and getting dressed.

"We have to find that woman… NOW!" Sam said tersely as he threw his brother's clothes over. "It's going after her, now, tonight. It must kill her by tonight…"

"What…"

We have to find her before it does. And Dean, you're right. She's the one that got away. And if she dies… I saw terrible things happening if she dies… she CANNOT die…," Sam told his brother as he started to pull all his gear into his backpack. "We have to find her first!"

"Erm… How do you suggest we go find her at this hour of the night, Sam?" Dean asked even as he pulled on his pants and slipped the loaded colt into the small of his back.

"Bayport Nursing College," Sam answered. "Instead of going in as inheritance lawyers tomorrow, we're going to break in tonight. She's on that graduation photo, so there must be some sort of alumni record somewhere with the information we need."

**_---supernatural---_**

It was half past ten, and a young man could be seen storming out of a double-storey house located on the eastern end of Bayport. One could almost see an aura of fury and anger swirling about him as he strode down the lane and back onto the main road.

_He got the wrong woman again! Where the hell could she be hiding?_ The creature within the human host raged. _He'd be hunting her for weeks now…_

It could not remember what it was, or if it had a name. It only knew that it was suppose to kill a particular woman. It failed that night sixteen years ago, and it could not remember why. It was almost destroyed in its attempt. It survived only because it stubbornly refused to die. But it was weakened, fractured, and sought refuge within this human body. For years it slept and rested, safe within its unknowing host. Only to find out later that it could not break through the power of a mother's love. Then, just over three months ago, the mother died in a car accident. And it capitalized on the sense of loss, slowly turning it into resentment and anger, fed on those fiery emotions until it successfully possessed its host.

_Time… it's running out of time…_

The creature could feel an inexplicable fear rising. It knew must find that woman before time runs out for it. It had no idea what happened to creatures like itself who failed their tasks, but the deep-seated fear at the thought of failure was enough to convince it that failing was not an option.

_Now, where else could it look?_ It stopped to search its sketchy fractured memories and that of its host. He smiled and his eyes turned an opaque oily black. He turned around and headed towards Elm Street.

**_---supernatural---_**

"Down!" Dean hissed at Sam as he shoved his brother's tall frame down and behind a table.

A beam of light flashed pass several times. It was the night-watchman making his rounds. Soon, the tip-tapping sounds of footsteps could be heard echoing down the empty hallways, growing quieter and quieter until silence again rules the air.

Both brothers slowly crawled out from under the tiny old wooden table, brushing the dust from their jackets.

"Found what we needed yet?" Dean asked.

Sam returned to the last cabinet he was fiddling through.

"Her name was Laura Avallach… here's the folder… now where's the contact address… 'Look under Laura Hardy'. Darn! Now, where are all the 'H' files kept? Here it is," Sam muttered as he continued searching through the new cabinet for 'Hardy, Laura'. "And… here! Address… address… Got it!"

"We better head out before the night watchman comes back for the second round!" Dean whispered back and the two of them swiftly sneaked out of the building and back to their car.

"Okay Sam, where to?" Dean asked as he started his car engines.

"77 Elm Street," Sam answered. "And I have a feeling we better hurry…"

**_---supernatural---_**

Fenton stood outside the Gogh's Farmstead and watched his team go about their work. He already had a very bad feeling that his forensic team would find nothing that would help identify the killer. That thought was actually more terrifying than it was frustrating. And Fenton knew it was in the way this murder was committed.

The killer left footprints, clearly, showing the path he took to Mrs. Gogh's room. The son, Vincent Gogh, was in the house, just like in the Carson case. And just like the Carson case, he ran up to his mother's bedroom when he heard a scream just in time to see his mother pinned to the ceiling before exploding into flames. The heat forced him out of the bedroom. But not before he saw the shadow of a young man leaping out of the window. By the time Vincent raced down to the ground and opened the door, the killer was gone, leaving behind nothing but a vague description that could fit anyone above six feet in height. The phone line as usual was cut – burnt. So Vincent had to drive two miles to the nearest farmstead to place that call to the police when he realized his cell phone was somehow also damaged.

The killer's growing bolder, deliberately leaving clues to taunt his pursuers; the investigative team noted that with dread. Usually when that happened, the killer starts to get careless. However, that also meant that more would die while the police wait helplessly for the killer to make his first mistake.

He rubbed his eyes tiredly. He had taken a cursory look at the crime scene, checked that everyone knew their job, and interviewed the lone witness. There was nothing more that he could do here. In the meantime, he should really head home and grab a good night sleep. He had no doubt he would have a long hard day tomorrow. And he really wanted to be home, to feel his wife snuggling against him safely in bed. He headed towards his car.

His cell phone rang. It was Ezra Collig. He picked up the call.

"We have another murder tonight. Mrs. Eliza Hall living on 24 Maple Drive… Both parents were murdered this time," Ezra said and added in a grave tone. "The two officers keeping an eye on the house from their car only realized something happened when they saw the fire coming out of the bedroom window."

Fenton felt his heart missed a beat. Eliza's dead. The killer stuck twice tonight. And why not three times? Laura…

"Ezra, I need to go home now," he told his friend. Ezra would understand that he needed to check on his family.

"I've already radioed some officers there. And I am heading there myself right now… and Fenton," Ezra hedged.

"What aren't you telling me?" Fenton demanded as he opened his car doors and searched desperately for his keys.

"We lost contact with Officer Murphy and Officer Brown who were keeping an eye on your place…"

**_---supernatural---_**

The creature approached the stately house located on the corner of High and Elm Street. There it stood for a moment observing the house that it had been into several times and recalled the locations of the doors. _She must be the one!_ It thought. She's the last one with blonde hair left in that photograph. It could feel excitement tingling down its host's spine. Yes, it told its host, no one else should have their mother when his was gone, ripped from him by a most cruel accident. And it watched in macabre satisfaction as the muscular teen started up the pavement and headed towards the back door.

"Stop where you are, and hands in the air," a deep male voice called out softly and firmly. "Then turn around slowly."

It halted in its track and stayed still for a moment to scan its surroundings. That was when it spotted the patrol car partially hidden by the shadows of a tree with its extensive peripheral and night vision.

"I repeat, put your hands in the air and turn around slowly."

It could now see that there were two of them with their guns pointed at his host. It smiled. The host's eyes turned black. In an incredibly fast move, the teen turned around and swept his hands before him. The older officer was lifted into the air and then thrown forcefully onto the windscreen of the patrol car as the other younger officer watched, frozen in shock. A second later, the younger officer was in the air and landed two hundred feet away, his neck at an awkward angle, and his sightless eyes staring at the stars twinkling merrily in the sky above him.

Then it continued its journey towards the house. A flick of its mind, and all security wires, including the phone line was burnt off. Another push with its mind and the back door opened.

It stepped into the house and made its way to the master bedroom.

**_---supernatural---_**

In the master bedroom of the Hardy residence, three people were sleeping fitfully. The mother slept, buried under her quilt on the king-sized master bed. Her sons slept in their sleeping bags on the floor in the space between the bed and the bedroom door. The clock on the wall read half past eleven.

Suddenly, a pair of eyes snapped opened, the vivid blue orbs staring straight and hard at the shadows dancing eerily on the ceiling. Then it shifted to the walls, the door, and finally the windows. The light from the street lamps filtered in through the windows, casting dancing shadows of tree branches swaying in the night breeze just outside the window.

Joe sat up slowly, his heart pounding hard in his chest. Something woke him up, and it was not those shadows, he knew. It was something he heard. The softest of a dull and muffled 'thud', as if something heavy was dropped on something hard some distance away. And there, he heard it again! Then there was the slightest rustling beside him and he knew Frank heard it too.

"Wake Mom up and call 911," Frank whispered as he reached for his father's handgun.

But Laura was already awake. Unlike her sons, she never slept. She was too worried to. And the sound of her sons moving and whispering had already alerted her to the fact that something's not quite right.

"The line's cut," Laura said after picking up and phone and noting that there was no ring tone.

She had expected that anyway. So she reached for her tazer and quietly slipped out of bed, joining her sons down on the floor.

"Seems like all our cell phones are fried too," Joe added wryly as he went through all their cell phones.

"Don't worry," she told her sons. "If the killer breached the doors, he'll trigger the alarms and help will be here in minutes. We'll be fine."

Laura did not really believe in her words. She knew the Dexter's and Mariner's homes were breached despite the top-notch security systems installed. But saying it made her feel like she was doing something. And doing something helped calmed her.

Joe suddenly tensed.

"He's in the house," he said.

"The alarms did not go off," Frank noted calmly as he moved swiftly and quietly towards the bedroom door to check that it remained locked.

"Now moving through the kitchen… he picked up a knife from the drawer… at the stairs…" Joe continued his monologue.

He did not bother to ask Joe how he knew. That was irrelevant at this point. He knew from the case notes that the Dexter's and Mariner's home security system was totally disabled before the women were killed. Then he stilled.

_…creak…_

The three occupants in the room held their breath and stay totally still as they strain their ears. They could not be sure if they just heard something. A fraction of a second crawled by, followed by the rest of it.

And there was the sound again.

_Crrreeeaaak…_

"He's coming up the stairs," Joe said.

Frank removed the safety catch on his father's handgun. Joe reached for the second gun that his mom just removed from the drawer by the bed. He swiftly checked that it was loaded, and then removed the safety catch.

"If there's any shooting to be done, it will be by me," Frank told his younger brother. There was no need for both of them to get their hands bloody, and being big brother, it was his duty responsibility.

"Frank…" Joe started to protest, but…

_Crrreeeaaak…_

"Dammit Joe, just listen to me this time, okay!" Frank hissed back as he moved forward closer to the door.

He placed himself behind the wardrobe where he had some cover and a clear view of whoever comes in. The killer would have to get pass him first before reaching his brother or his mom. Joe pushed Laura behind the old dresser, and shielded her with his larger frame. It was true that the killer used knives, but his many successful escapades from the very competent and experienced officers of the law told the brothers that caution was paramount.

They waited, hearts pounding loudly in the deafening silence. Seconds dragged by as if it were hours.

Then the door knob started to turn just so very slowly.

Frank slowly lifted his arm and aimed the gun at the door.

The door knob stopped turning. It hit the lock, Frank noted. A side-long glance told him Joe had noted the same thing, and also had his gun trained on the door.

Silence resumed.

Frank could feel the sweat gathering on his brows. He had no idea why he felt so threatened. After all he had faced down many hardened criminals with his brother, including a number of professional terrorists and assassins. But this… this felt… different.

The door knob started to turn again. This time, it did the full turn, as if the door was never locked in the first place.

Whoever that person was must be an expert lock-pick, Frank marveled, he was even quieter and faster than Joe! And Sam Radley, who taught them both that skill, swore Joe's a natural at it. The best he had seen.

Slowly, the door opened.

Frank applied the lightest of pressure on the trigger, and make sure the gun was firmly pointed at the doorway.

A shadow slipped in.

There were three quick and deep indrawn breaths as they recognized the intruder.

"Martin?" Laura gasped.

It could not be! Laura thought. Martin Greenwood was the sweetest boy around, and was good friends with her sons. He and his mother were always helping out at the aged shelter, and a talented wide receiver on the school's football team. Until three months ago, when his Mrs. Greenwood was killed in a hit and run accident. There were talks about him being offered a sports scholarship as well. Why would he go around killing people? There must be some mistake.

"You! It must be you! There's no one left," Martin growled as he advanced on the woman, a knife held loosely in his left hand.

"So why don't you tell us why you're going around killing all those women, Martin," Frank asked calmly as he slowly stepped out from behind the wardrobe, his stance relax, as he prepared to move in to take down the person he once knew as Joe's classmate, his friend and their team mate on the football field.

Joe pushed his Mom behind him as he noted Frank moving in to intercept Martin. Then he noticed that the knife was held in the left hand… but Martin's right handed. He took another closer look at the face and paled. The eyes… He shouted a warning to his brother, but it was too late.

Frank never had a chance. One moment, he was reaching out to disable the teen and the next he was shoved back violently and pushed against the wall. And to Joe's and Laura's disbelieving eyes, Frank stayed there on the wall.

Joe automatically lifted up the gun, ready to shoot. He did not hesitate – this was not a situation to debate the ethics and consequences of shooting to kill. Still, it wasn't fast enough. An invisible force swept his hand aside and the bullet ricochets harmlessly pass the black-eyed killer and buried itself in the ceiling. Next he knew he was in the air, and a sharp pain radiated up his back as he bounced off the bed, crashed onto the wall, and stayed there.

The creature quickly cornered the woman, a wide evil grin lighting up its otherwise inhumane expression.

"You escaped your fate for sixteen years," it grated out in a harsh dry voice through its host's mouth. "I did not know how you survived all those years back, but tonight, tonight you die..."

Laura backed into the wall, her heart racing in terror, as the creature reached for her neck. She saw what happened to her sons, and her mind was still trying to work itself around to accepting what she saw. She was already half paralyzed with terror. Then she gagged as she felt the cold hands on her skin.

She could feel the sharp edge of the knife against her stomach as the hands tightened around her throat to prevent her from moving. Suddenly, Martin let out a strangled cry of pain and his gripped loosened. Laura took the opportunity to gather her frozen nerves, and jabbed her tazer into Martin's stomach.

The creature, shocked by whatever hurt it from Laura's neck, retreated instinctively. Next it knew a high voltage current was coursing through its body, disrupting its focus. It let go of the two teens it held against wall using only the power of its mind. A series of disjointed images flashed through its mind. The creature smiled. It knew what it was now. A demon and a very powerful one; it could not remember its name for now, but it was confident it would remember later. And it had a plan, one that would shake the balance of power in two worlds. That woman was a mother of one of those special children that it was harvesting for its master plan… They would not get away today…

Frank and Joe both felt the pressure on them eased, and next they knew, they were falling towards the floor. Frank did not know what exactly happened. But he still had enough sense to know when not to fight a losing battle. Martin was already recovering – unbelievable. He reached over to drag his mom with him. From the corner of his eye, he saw Joe reached for the gun near him and turning towards the door.

"Joe! Frank! Get out of here… Now!" Laura screamed at her sons as she pushed past the killer and head towards the door.

The door slammed shut on them. Then all three were pulled back into the room again. Frank recovered first and tried to take Martin down with a flying tackle. He ended up on the ceiling for his troubles. He watched horrified as Martin made to stab his mother.

Joe inserted himself in between the knife and his mom. To his surprise, the knife did not pierce him. Instead, Martin held the tip of the knife at his stomach, leaned forward and stared him in the eye. Joe felt as if those black oily eyes were reaching into his mind and going through his thoughts and memories. He felt like puking, but could not. He wanted to move, but could not. That was worse than the worst nightmare he ever had and remembered.

Then the demon smiled a nasty smile.

"I liked Sammy a lot, but I think I'm going to like you too, Joey…" The demon said before carefully moving him aside and pushing him against the wall before returning his attention to Laura. "Too bad you still have to die, mommy…"

The demon lifted his knife and prepared to strike again when the door burst open. He swiveled around and was shocked to find himself staring into the barrel of that one weapon on Earth that could kill him. Fear of death obliterated all thoughts as he moved desperately aside. The bullet flew past him and shattered the glass window behind him. Anger coursed through him. He roared his fury and everyone was thrown violently backwards against the wall; they all collapsed half stunned on the floor. The remaining windows shattered under the force of the demon's psychic outburst.

The demon ripped the gun from Dean's hand and threw him against the dresser. The elder Winchester brother landed on a pile of broken wood with a painful groan. He ignored Sammy started to reach out for Frank.

_Time… out of time…_ the words reverberates through the demon's mind again.

There was a time frame within which he must kill that woman, he suddenly remembered. Or else… or else what? It could not remember, but knew the consequences could not be good. He turned to throw his knife at Laura, aiming straight for the heart.

**_---xxxSUPERNATURALxxx---_**


	7. Chapter Six

Okay, I would like to state for the record, that you, Nomi, have atrocious handwriting. The chapters will be posted as I typed them up. Meanwhile, enjoy chapter 6 - TA

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**The OneThat Got Away **

By Nomi

CHAPTER SIX

**You Have to See to Believe **

It was about two in the morning. The bulk of the crime scene investigators were just packing up and about to leave, leaving behind just two to do another sweep of the scene. They were rushing everything to the labs for analysis, hoping against hope that the killer would have left some clue behind as to where he had gone. Because this time, unlike all previous times, there was hope that the victims might still be alive.

The father of the missing 'victims' stood alone at one of the shattered windows of his bedroom, a notebook held loosely in his right hand, desperately trying to make sense of what he just heard.

Witness statements collected from neighbors told an unbelievable tale:

_First was the sound of a dull 'thud', followed by a cop falling from the sky, landing in the middle of High Street_ – Officer Murphy was critically injured, currently undergoing surgery in Bayport Hospital. The doctors were not confident that he would make it. Officer Brown was found dead with a broken neck in the middle of High Street.

_Then there were the gunshots. A good number of them, and from a number of different types of guns, but no one could be absolutely certain how many there were_ – So far, the Crime Scene Investigators recovered three bullets: One from the ceiling in the bedroom, one from the living room, and the last one from the wall on the outside of the house. But the investigators also found splotches of damp marks on the wall that were rapidly drying up. Forensics could only hope whatever that was in that liquid would provide the break they needed to stop the killer from striking again.

_There was a loud roar of fury, and that was when the windows shattered_ – forensics recovered shards of broken glass all around the house; the placement and shape of those shards suggested the force started from within the house, and propagated powerfully outwards.

_All witnesses recalled the sound of a loud explosion after several gunshots_ – That was from the brothers' van parked in the garage. They had what remained of the van towed to the labs for further analysis.

_Finally, the witnesses living across the street from the Hardys reported seeing an old weather-beaten Chevy screech to a stop before the Hardy home and two young men jumping out of the car and breaking into the house. Then they saw Laura scrambling out of the front door, closely followed by a limping Frank, Joe, and the two young men who broke in just minutes earlier. They slammed the door shut behind them. There was another loud roar of fury, and the door was blasted open from the inside. A flying piece of broken door hit one of the unidentified young men on the shoulder and he went down. Joe turned back to help him up while the other unidentified young man took a shot with his double-barreled shotgun. There was a sizzling sound and a howl of pain. Then all five ran for the old black car. The car sped down the road, chased by another young man, presumably the 'killer'_– That part was partially verifiable. Pieces of the door were found scattered on the front lawn, and skid marks confirmed the desperate attempt to get away from whoever was chasing them.

The next bit was the truly inexplicable part:

_There was steam sizzling off a drenched-looking young man who emerged from the broken door. The movement of the presumed 'killer' was awkward, as if he was in great pain. The 'killer' apparently chased after a speeding car, caught up with it, and made a ten-foot or so leap from the road onto the roof of the car. Then the car skidded and disappeared around the corner_ – Police officers followed the tracks left by the car. Residents along the road reported being awakened by either sounds of tires screeching, or gunshots, or both. The tracks mysteriously ended on Cromwell Street.

_'The killer must be inhuman!'_ Fenton muttered. _'Or there must be more than one of them.' _

Fenton knew both his sons were capable fighters and crack shots. Yet they, and two other young men, had to run from one killer armed with nothing but a knife?! _Impossible_! the father ground out. Yet, apparently, that was exactly what happened. At least, from the preliminary evidence gathered with the naked eye, there were no indications that there was more than one assailant. But it was clear from the footprints on the lawn that six people ran down it, heading towards a parked car.

_'What the hell happened here?!'_ Fenton wondered, desperate to know the truth. And for that moment, he regretted taking on the case. If he could turn back the clock, he would never have gone out. He would have stayed home to protect his wife and sons…

"At least there's no burnt mark on the ceiling and we know from witness accounts that they made it out of the house."

Fenton turned around to see Sam Radley walking into his bedroom, Officer Con Riley following close behind. Both had extremely worried expressions on their faces.

"They're rushing the evidence to the labs now. Hopefully there was something left behind that will tell us where to look next," Officer Riley offered.

"Fenton, there's nothing more you can do here. Let's head back to the department and brainstorm our next move, all right?" Sam tried to persuade Fenton. He did not want to leave the distraught father and his close friend alone at this point in time.

"I'll be there. Just give me a moment more," Fenton requested. "Please…"

Radley nodded, his eyes reflecting his worry. But he understood Fenton's need for a moment of privacy. "I'll be outside with Ezra," he said quietly before leaving with Con.

Fenton gave Sam a tiny and curt nod of acknowledgement before returning to his own thoughts. He already knew in his heart that by the time forensics came up with anything, if they did come up with anything at all, it would be too late for his family. Ruthlessly, he shoved all his emotions and fears aside. Those could wait. This was one case where he could not depend on evidence; he would have to become in his mind, either the predator on the hunt or the prey on the run. Since he had no idea what the killer was after, he would have to become his sons – they were being chased by an enemy they could not fight, so what would they do? Where would they go?

But no, wait – there were two other persons with his sons and wife. Fenton reviewed the eye-witness statements and had no doubt that those two unknown persons who broke into his home and escaped with his family were the same two gallivanting around town pretending to be FBI agents – the two brothers he met at the Carson residence. How the heck did they know when the killer was going to attack his home? And why did they save Laura, and not the other two women? Or were they just lucky? But all those questions ceased to matter for as long as his family lived. As far as he was concerned, those two somehow interrupted the murder attempt, and were the reason why his sons and Laura were still alive.

That meant those two knew something. And whatever they knew might tell him where they were headed with his family. He recalled the notes on the Winchester brothers that Sam passed to him earlier. Dean Winchester was on the FBI Wanted List for the assault and murder of a girl in St. Louis, and both brothers were wanted for attempted bank robbery and murder in Milwaukee. Then there were the charges that were dismissed in Baltimore by Detective Diana Ballard…

The investigator remembered how surprised he was by that piece of information. While the brothers were clearly not law-abiding citizens, Fenton could not imagine them as hardened criminals either. Since he and Detective Ballard had worked on a homicide case several years back, he gave her a quick call. Diana had confirmed his suspicions that the brothers were looking for a particular serial killer on which she had no details. She also told him, off the official record, that she believed the Winchester brothers were not responsible for those murders or the bank robbery. _Why not?_ Fenton asked. _You have to see to believe_, Diana answered most cryptically before hanging up the phone on him.

Nothing there that could help him, Fenton sighed. He went through his notes swiftly one more time. Nothing from there stood out at him either. He snapped his notebook shut and started going through his room again. Broken furniture littered the room, and Fenton forced himself to ignore the bloodstains on the wall and the floor. Maybe there was something he missed earlier, a something that would tell him where to go next…

"I could tell you exactly what happened here second by second, and still that would not tell you where to find your sons."

Fenton swiveled around at the sound of that deep, gruff voice. A heavyset man, possibly a decade older than himself, stood by the door, leaning negligently against the doorframe.

"Who are you and how did you get in here?" Fenton demanded. He had never seen the man before.

"Aren't you interested in what happened in here?" the man asked instead of answering him.

"And how would you know what happened in here?" Fenton asked in a suspicious voice.

"Tell me, Mr. Hardy. Do you believe in God?" The stranger sidestepped Fenton's question with one of his own.

"What has that got to do with what happened in here?"

"Perhaps nothing, but perhaps everything," the stranger stated rather blandly.

"I attend every Sunday service I can with my family," Fenton finally answered. He had no idea what the man was up to, but his gut instinct was telling him to play along.

"I suppose that will have to do, Mr. Hardy," The heavyset stranger said with a sigh. "Your sons fought well, but the killer's out of their league. Not for lack of skills, but a lack of knowledge. The two young men who barged in managed to thwart the killer's attempt to murder your wife, as you surmised. Unfortunately, the killer's too fast for them. They were all thrown rather forcefully against the wall. Then Dean was flung against the dresser before the killer turned to throw the knife at Laura. Joe managed to get a shot off, but the killer barely flinched. Then Sam managed to spray some holy water on it. It bought all of them the time to get out of the house, just barely. The rest you know from the witness statements."

_Holy water?! _ Fenton thought in disbelief.

"Yes, Mr. Hardy. Holy Water. The serial killer you're after is a demon."

_A demon?_ Fenton thought. _Was the guy crazy or something?_

"No, I am not crazy," the stranger told him emphatically after he noted that incredulous expression on Fenton's face. "And to save your family, you will need that Colt." The stranger pointed specifically to the top left corner of what was left of his bed. "It is the only weapon here that can kill the demon. Sam and Dean would know what to do."

Fenton stared at the Colt lying at the corner of the bed in disbelief. How could any of his investigative team miss that? As a matter of fact, how could he miss that? He himself had looked through that corner several times and he could have sworn that he did not see the gun.

"I prevented anyone from seeing it at a great cost to myself, Mr. Hardy. And like I said, you will need this Colt to kill the demon and save your sons and wife."

"Why are you helping us?" Fenton asked even as he reached down with his gloved hand to pick up the Colt, placing it in an evidence bag.

The stranger moved over and gazed at one of the family photographs left hanging on the wall. Regrets shadowed his rugged features. The photograph showed four happy faces staring back at the camera against the backdrop of the ocean. It was something his own sons never had, because he failed them as a father.

"You are very fortunate to have such a loving and close-knit family, Mr. Hardy. And you have done well by your sons, despite the demands of your chosen vocation…"

_'Chosen vocation?'_ Fenton thought that was a strange choice of words.

"I have one real regret in my life; and that is not being the father that my sons needed when they were growing up. I let my grief and obsession with the death of my beloved wife consume me. And I hunted her killer for two decades. I can only say, my sons grew up to be remarkable young men despite my lack of care and attention. But I know that they are starved for affection and hunger for a chance at a normal life. My elder son had it especially hard, having witnessed the murder at the age of four, and then having to deal with the loss of his mother and take care of his infant brother at the same time."

The heavyset stranger turned to him, a pleading light in his dark eyes.

"Help my sons; help save my sons, and help me look after them, given them a little taste of what I could not," the heavyset stranger said as he slowly turned translucent before Fenton's very eyes! _You have to see to believe…_ Diana's words echoed through his brains.

"I cannot tell you where they are now. It's against the rules. But I can tell you that my sons would be looking for a place where they could hole up in till dawn. It would be preferably a small sturdy wood cabin in someplace reasonably isolated so that they could battle the demon without having to worry about other casualties. My sons do not know this area well, but I believe your sons do. You have to get that Colt to them…and hurry…before the demon finds them…again…"

As the voice faded off, the figure vanished.

"Go…hurry…and tell my sons I love them…"

Then there was silence.

"Wait…" Fenton shouted out. But the 'ghost' was gone, leaving Fenton with a host of unanswered questions.

Then he collected himself; his wife and sons were in danger. And if he had to believe in supernatural angels and demons to save them, he would.

Fenton removed the Colt from the evidence bag, exited his home, and headed towards his car. He had a wife and two missing sons to save.

"Fenton!" Chief Ezra Collig called out when he saw Fenton striding towards his car. "Where do you think you're going?"

"To find my wife and sons," Fenton replied stonily as he got into his car.

"Fenton, if you know something, tell us and let us help," Ezra pleaded with his friend.

But Fenton ignored him and just started the engine of his car. Some things one had to see to believe. And he had no time to explain.

"Fenton… Don't do anything that you'll regret, Fenton… FENTON!" Ezra yelled at the moving car as the investigator sped away.

Ezra cursed as he raced back to his own car and used the police CB radio to call his men. Fenton must have seen or figured out something, he concluded. He had no doubt that the private investigator knew something.

"Con!" he yelled at the young officer currently heading towards him, a good friend of the Hardys. "Get to your car now and follow Fenton. Do not let him out of sight, you hear me? Do NOT let him out of sight! Go, go, now! Hurry!"

The police chief then reached into his car, grabbed his radio, and started shouting instructions into it. He made sure that the crime scene investigators knew what they were doing, and who to report to, before he got back into his car. Once there, he pulled out his personal cell phone and started calling Con Riley.

Ezra hoped Con successfully tailed Fenton; he hoped he reached his friend before the angry and distraught father did something that could not be undone.

"Come on Con, pick up the phone!" Ezra muttered as he drove.

**_---xxxSUPERNATURALxxx--- _**

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**_---xxxSUPERNATURALxxx---_**


	8. Chapter Seven

Sorry I was a little too busy to type, enjoy chapter 7 - TA

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A/N: This is the chapter you asked for. Darn hard to write, but hope you like it.

_(Updated: Sorry PK, hated it. So I replaced it with this one.) _

**The OneThat Got Away**

By Nomi

CHAPTER SEVEN

**On Little Brothers and Moms**

In a little log cabin next to a river, four people were having a heated argument as a woman tried unsuccessfully to mediate the quarrel. Then she stilled, her eyes looking left and right, as she strained to hear beyond the macho male voices. A quick and sharp yell from her cut through the meaningless arguments, and four pairs of eyes turned on her. _Listen,_ she told them. _Listen_, she whispered fearfully, and they did. They all did and heard.

_THE SUDDEN SOUND OF SILENCE…_

Dean strained his ears, hoping to catch a cricket's call or an owl's hoot, but there was nothing. His heart sped up a little, and breathing grew heavier. It's coming, he knew. And he lost the only weapon they had that was capable of killing the demon. He was afraid. But he was used to it. This particular emotion was a familiar friend to him; after all, he grew up with it and lived with it ever since he was four.

A tiny movement drew his attention. It was Frank; the teen was clenching his fists to tightly, it shook. He focused on the face and saw a grim and determined expression. He looked into the eyes and saw a lost and terrified teen caught in a situation that he was totally unprepared for. It occurred to him then that whatever quarrel he had with that teen just minutes ago was now totally and utterly irrelevant. He could not even remember what it was all about! There was other more pressing and relevant issues to handle. That teen… Frank, he amended, had guts, was cool under fire, and was a darn good shot.

He recalled the hair-raising car chase from Elm Street:

_They barely managed to make it to his car, piled in, and he drove off. Even in the midst of running for their lives, no one else drive his baby! Frank and Sam was in the back seat, with Laura between them. He glanced at the rear view mirror and saw the demon chasing after the car. He also saw the shocked expressions on all the Hardys faces when they realized the demon was gaining on them on foot._

_His younger brother was still actively trying to shoot the possessed human to slow it down. Sam kept missing because he kept swerving the car left and right to prevent the demon from latching onto his car. That was when Frank reached out, plucked the handgun from a rather dazed Joe's hand, took a careful aim, and fired. Frank's shot was true – it hit the creature in the chest. Unfortunately, an ordinary bullet had little effect on the possessed. And the creature continued his chase as if nothing happened leaving Frank staring, eyes and mouth opened wide in disbelief. Dean yelled for Sam to pass his shotgun over to the elder Hardy, but it was too late. The creature took a flying leap and landed on the roof of his beloved Impala with a loud 'THUD' denting the roof._

_He swerved left and right again, trying unsuccessfully to fling the creature from the car roof. The maneuver failed. Then the creature broke the rear window and reached in for Laura. That was when Sam again threw some liquid over the creature and it screamed and sizzled. Another sharp turn threw the creature off the car just off Cromwell Street…_

_"What the hell was that?!" Frank turned to ask them after he ascertained that they were no longer being chased. Joe and Laura, as Dean could see, were still in shock._

_"A demon; and it'll be after us again soon," Sam replied, his eyes still glued to the road behind them._

_"Now kiddo, we don't have much time. We need to find a place where we can hold off that demon till dawn…" he asked the Hardys. It was a logical move. They knew this place; he and Sam did not. "… somewhere fairly isolated so we have the space to fight without worrying about other innocent casualties. Preferably a small sturdy wooden cabin in which we could do some fortifications…"_

_"How about the Hoopers' holiday cabin in Southhaven forest? It should be quite isolated there at this time of the year," Frank suggested automatically, clearly still a little dazed from the entire incident. "And the Hoopers always leave a spare key in the flower pot next to the window."_

And that was how they all ended up here in this particular log cabin. Dean knew some adults would have peed in their pants facing what the Hardys faced in the last few hours. Frank managed to keep his cool, took time to aim with a steady hand, and actually hit that demon. Dean felt a grudging respect for that teen.

THE SILENCE GREW EVEN LOUDER IF THAT WAS POSSIBLE… ONE COULD ALMOST HEAR THE SECONDS CRAWLING PAINFULLY BY…

Dean turned his attention to the younger Hardy. It was easy to see that Joe drew part of his strength from his big brother. Dean remembered observing how the younger always calmed down after catching his brother's eyes or after receiving a reassuring smile from Frank. Yes, the Hardy brothers were close. It was clear to Dean that Joe looked up to Frank. It made him wonder, for the briefest moment, if he commanded equal respect from Sam? Then he pushed that thought away. It was irrelevant. He loved his kid brother, and that was what mattered.

And talking about kid brothers… He had ascertained the younger Hardy was definitely one of the 'special children'. How Joe fit into the whole hellish picture, Dean had no idea yet at the moment. Now that he recalled that conversation, he could see that Joe was still looking a little sick from that revealing chat:

_ "… yeah, that was how Mom died, pinned to the ceiling and burnt to death on All Souls Day twenty-two years ago…" Dean told the Hardys, and watched them paled at the implications as the tale unfolds._

_"The demon, Azazel, had a plan to take over the human realm. He prepared a crop of 'special children' with psychic abilities, pitted them one against the other, until only one was left standing. And the demon had the 'leader' he needed to lead his army. He almost succeeded in opening Hell's Gates. A few of us hunters fought at the heart of the giant Devil's Trap built by Samuel Colt over a hundred years ago in Wyoming. We killed that 'leader', Azazel, and managed to close the gate, but not before a couple hundred of the demons escaped," Sam continued with the narration._

_"What do you mean by psychic abilities," Joe asked, the slightest quaver to his voice._

_"Visions, telekinesis, astral projection…to name a few," Sam answered._

_Dean saw that Joe looked a little sick; he supposed it wasn't everyday that one learnt that he was part of a demon's plan to take over the human realm._

_"One other thing about all those 'special children'; all their mothers were killed on All Souls Day in the year of their birth," Dean added before turning towards Laura. "Yet for some reason, you lived. Did something happen the year Joe was born?"_

_"Yes…on All Souls Day that year, Fenton was on late shift. He came home to find the nursery in shambles, Frank and Joe asleep in their respective cots, and I was on the floor unconscious. I had no memory of what happened. Medical tests showed I was not sexually assaulted. What happened that night was a mystery…" Laura recalled._

_Dean hid his disappointment. They lost the Colt. Whatever helped Laura survive that night could possibly help them out of this fix tonight. Except that they had no idea what it was._

_ "You mentioned those psychics were pitted one against the other…then why wasn't Joe taken then?" Frank asked._

_"Good question. We were all twenty-three. Joe's only seventeen. Do you think there might be a second crop of children out there, Dean? Perhaps even multiple crops?" Sam asked. "And there is still the question of the demon that's doing all the killings now…"_

_"Wait a minute, you said all psychics were dead, including the one that became the leader," Frank cut in and gestured at Sam. "Then why is he still alive?"_

_"Yes, he died and I got him back," Dean said cryptically. "There are some things you don't want to know, kiddo. Enjoy your teenage years while you can."_

That was the end of the civil discussion. Frank started to bagger him about what happened and about Sam, and he refused to answer. He knew how easy it would be to succumb to the temptation of making deals with demons; he now understood why his own father never taught him that. There was some knowledge that people were never meant to have… Frank would never find that bit out from him, Dean swore.

_THE SILENCE WAS NOW ABSOLUTE… EVEN THE AIR STILLED AS IF THE NATURAL SEA BREEZE HAD ALSO DECIDED IT SHOULD TAKE COVER…_

His heart was beating even faster now, and he felt like he was being suffocated. Sweat forming on his brow, and a couple of them started to streak down the side of his face.

Dean turned his attention to his kid brother next. The kid brother he would willingly go to hell for. He noted then that Sam was looking at Laura with a strange expression on his face. No, not really a strange expression, Dean realized, but one of childish yearning for something that could never be his. Laura had given Sam a taste of what it was like to have a mother, and Sam liked it. He recalled that little scene – something he could tease Sam about later.

_"Ouch!" Dean heard Sam yelped as he hammered just a little too hard on the nail and hurt his fingers._

_And Laura was there next to Sam, her feminine hands reaching out for that injured finger._

_"It's bleeding. Over to the nursing station…NOW," Laura said in a stern voice, and glared at Sam until he docilely moved towards the chair she indicated. He could hear the two Hardy brothers snickering in the background. He supposed there was something about the image of a five foot four woman bull-dozing a six foot four giant to do her bidding._

_Kids, both of them, Dean groused. But a part of him envied them. They had what he lost._

_So Sam sat there on that chair letting Laura fussed over that bleeding finger for a moment before she finally put that Band-aid on. Then she handed his kid brother a mug of hot chocolate, and watched him finished every last drop. Dean could tell that Sam enjoyed that experience tremendously from the way Sam's eyes kept going back to Laura whenever she wasn't watching._

Like the way Sam was surreptitiously watching Laura even now, his eyes dark with resolve. And Dean knew then that Mrs. Hardy had won over Sam's heart without even trying.

Then, he noted that Sam's fingers had started to twitch. The silence had started to weigh down on Sam. Another quick glance at the Hardys told him the unnatural quietness had started to affect them as well.

And Dean realized what was happening. They had unintentionally let the sudden silence and their own fear take over. That had to stop right now! They had to start doing something, to distract themselves, before their fears get the better of them.

And how could he forget about his duffel bag? Dean berated himself.

Dean moved and reached for his bag, and the spell of the suffocating silence was broken. He reached in, removed a couple of shotguns andtossed them at the Hardy brothers. That was followed by a sack of bullets.

"Paintballs?" Joe asked, shocked.

"Not paint, holy water – call them holy bolts," he returned with a smirk at Frank's and Joe's flabbergasted expressions…

Dean reached down and started to load his own shotguns when he saw that little plaster and bandage on his arm and hand and remembered:

_He had just finished sealing a window with salt when he turned around to see Laura standing before him._

_"Sit," she ordered, her hands pointing straight at the chair just a few steps away._

_"I've got some more things to do, lady," he protested and she pulled him by the arm towards the wooden chair. "We have to be prepared before the demon gets here…"_

_"And it will be my pleasure to unleash you on the demon when it arrives," Laura countered smoothly. "But first, I must make sure you live long enough to face that demon."_

_Next he knew, he was pushed firmly onto the chair, and Laura was applying antiseptic to the cuts and scratches on his arm. For a moment, he was stunned. Then the old memories returned, so quickly he could not stop them. Images of a little boy seated on another chair crying flashed by. It was him at the age of four, and his mother was putting a Band-aid on his knee. There, all done, his mother crooned. Now, that wasn't so hard, was it? And you're such a brave little boy…and brave little boys deserve a reward…here's a candy bar for you, his mom told him with a smile…and then he was happily sucking away at his candy bar. That was the last candy bar from his mom, and the only one he could remember…_

_"Now, that wasn't so difficult, was it?" Laura said as she finished bandaging his arm. "And here's some hot chocolate to warm your stomach before you get back to work. Don't worry, your brother and my sons are capable enough to know how to board the windows without you standing over them."_

_And he drank every last drop, as Laura stood over him, watching him with draconian eyes._

_Mothers! He muttered as he gulped down the hot chocolate, and then returned to work. He did not miss the smile of satisfaction on Laura's face. He made sure she heard him grousing, but she merely raised her brows, as if daring him to face her one on one. He chickened out, if he wanted to be honest about it, and slunk back to work. He would never admit it to anyone though, not even Sam. _

_Still, something warmed his heart. Mothers…_

_It was the hot chocolate! Dean told himself as he climbed onto the table to start sketching his first Devil's Trap on the ceiling._

Dean looked at the worried and frightened mother before him and the Band-aid on his arm. The demon got his mother. Then he was young and weak. But he was no longer that little terrified four year old boy. The demon would NOT get this mother, Dean told himself. She would live…

He reached for her hand, gave her a firm reassuring grip, and was about to say something when…

_BANG!_

Something hit the door with such force, the entire log cabin shook under its assault. Five pairs of eyes zeroed in on the door.

_BANG!_

The doorframe shook. Dean and Frank noted that cracks started appearing on the walls around the door. They exchanged a glance and positioned themselves behind the table with their guns trained on the door.

_BANG!_

The wooden door started to splinter, but the salt line held. Sam and Joe moved further away from the door and towards the back of the cabin, careful to keep Laura in between them.

_BANG!_

A long crack started to appear on the ceiling, breaking the Devil's Trap that was sketched onto it. Dean saw what happened and cursed. There goes their first trap! He signaled Frank to move further back away from the door. There they waited for the demon to burst in.

They waited.

And they waited.

Nothing happened, and five pairs of eyes started scanning wildly at all the barricaded windows around them.

_What was that demon up to?_ Each of them wondered unfailingly.

Then…a soft demonic laughter echoed through the cabin.

"Oh Sammy, Joey, I see the two of you are coming along quite well... I am most pleased," the demon called out.

"Too bad mommy still has to die…" the demon snarled.

An instant later, the door was ripped from its frame, the salt line broke, and 'Martin' stood at the threshold, his eyes glowing a bright yellow…

**_---xxxSUPERNATURALxxx---_**

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	9. Chapter Eight

Sorry - but here's the next chapter.

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**The OneThat Got Away**

By Nomi

CHAPTER EIGHT

**To the Battlefields**

"I lost him."

Chief Ezra Collig cursed the moment he heard those three words from Officer Con Riley. But he and Fenton went back a long way; that was why he and Con were cruising the roads of Bayport for the last half hour, in vain hope of finding where that investigator had gone.

_Riiinnnggg…._

Con Riley, the caller ID told him.

_Come on Con, have some good news for me_, Ezra thought tiredly as he picked up the call.

"Chief, I just got a call from Mr. Hooper. Said his son and car was missing," Con said.

"WHAT?!" Ezra rasped out, shocked. _Was the killer going after kids now?_

"No… no…" Con's apologetic voice came over the cell when he realized what his chief might have misconstrued his statement as. "Fenton dropped by about half an hour ago to ask him about his holiday cabin in Southhaven Forest – about an hour's drive away. Mr. Hooper thought that Biff might have overheard the conversation…"

"And that boy's gone after the killer," Ezra surmised. He could feel a headache coming on already.

"Chief…?" Con started a little hesitantly.

"Yes?" He noted Con's tone, and started to get a really bad feeling in his guts.

"Mr. Hooper said that he's going to head down to the cabin, and I'm offering him a ride…"

"Con…" Ezra started in a warning tone.

"Sorry Chief, but Hooper said either he comes along, or he goes alone. And he said the cabin's located some distance away from the roads. I rather have him lead the way than fumbling my way through the beaten track in the middle of the night," Con stated.

Collig let out another string of curses after Con pass him the address and hung up. For a moment, he paused to consider his next move. All his men were currently patrolling the streets in case the killer decided to strike again. He could not afford to pull them off given the fact he had no material evidence that Fenton or that killer would be at the Hooper's cabin. Somehow, the season cop had a feeling that Fenton's onto something, and there'd be hell happening soon in that forest. He took out his cell phone and woke a number of his trusted men from bed, and requested them to meet him on Montauk Highway just off Brookhaven, fully armed, as soon as possible. From there, they'll head into Southhaven Forest together. In the meantime, Collig could only hope that the two distraught husbands and fathers would not do anything stupid.

**_---supernatural---_**

"Azazel?!" Sam and Dean both rasped out the name in shock when they saw those eerie yellow eyes.

The demon did not acknowledge that name, but simply charged towards Laura.

None of the four brothers hesitated. They fired their strange assortments of shotguns. The demon reacted swiftly. It leapt aside and missed all the 'holy bolts' headed its way, but one. Frank had anticipated the move and aimed for the expected movement of the demon rather than where the demon was. The demon howled in pain and rage as steam sizzled from its thigh. A psychic blast from the demon sent Frank crashing into a shelf. But Dean's next shot hit the demon's shoulders and deflected its attention away from Frank. Meanwhile, the other three finished their shots and retreated into the bedroom as planned. Seconds later, Dean and Frank followed the demon close behind.

"Not that same old under the carpet trick, Deanie. This is getting all too repetitive…" the demon drawled in a bored voice, halting at the door.

A sweep of its arm and the carpet was flung aside. The floor was clear. The demon looked up at the ceiling, it was also clear. It frowned and paused at the door, a suspicious expression on its face. Then the face brightened and the demon chuckled. Another sweep of its arm brought the carpet back onto the floor, but on its reverse side.

"Tsk… tsk… I could have been fooled…"

Dean gave a quick jerk on an almost invisible string which he and Frank had carefully set up. A heavy wooden ram-like object swung down from the living room's ceiling towards the demon, knocking the demon off balance onto carpet and right into the Devil's Trap.

Except the trap within a trap failed…

The demon, in its desperation, managed to twist around and hang on to that object, swinging clear of the double trap. His anger was expected, and the retribution was swift. All four brothers soon found themselves stuck to the various walls again, leaving a terrified Laura alone in the corner of the room.

"Oh, mommy… you've led me on a merry dance," the demon said most conversationally. "But the music's ended and its time to go…"

Angry shouting from the four males on the wall drew his attention away from the woman for a moment. The demon rolled his eyes and tightened his mental grip on their throats, strangling them to silence.

"Be patient, Deanie, and little Frankie too. I'll see that the two of you join mommy later. And please don't worry about Sammy and Joey. I promise to take very good care of them." It reached down for Laura's throat as the brothers watched on in horror.

A sudden flare of red flashed, bathing the entire room in an orangey light for the merest fraction of a second. An inhuman scream exploded from the demon's throat as it was flung backwards, out of the bedroom door, crashing into the dining table back in the living room.

The spell broke, and the four brothers landed unceremoniously on their bums on the floor, desperately gasping for air.

"Move!" Dean rasped out as he pushed Sam and Laura towards the nearest window.

They started tugging desperately at the boards they hammered in place just an hour before.

The Hardy brothers pitched in to help; the Winchesters had explained that there were only two ways to get rid of that demon. First was to try to exorcise it and sent it back to hell temporarily after entrapping it within a Devils Trap. That failed. The second was to kill it with the Colt, which they no longer had. Those shotguns and the 'holy bolts' were clearly only a delaying tactic. The only other option opened to them now was to run.

The boards came off, and while the Hardy brothers were helping their mother out of the window, Dean grabbed the nearest two shotguns and a bag of bullets. They would need them. Then together, all five of them ran into the woods, closing their ears to the demonic howls of fury dogging their footsteps.

**_---supernatural---_**

One moment it was savoring its success in cornering and killing its target at last, and the next moment, it was flung backwards by an unknown force, out of the bedroom and back into the living room. Next it knew, hell fires raced through its body, eliciting a scream of agony.

Then, images started to flow again, flashing by at such speed that everything was a blur. It had no idea how long it was there on the floor curled up in agony like a fetus. But when it was all over, it knew more about its own past. Its name was Azazel. He was one of the most powerful and feared demon in existence. He had a plan to shake the balance of power in two realms. But what happened? What exactly was the plan? And why was he here?

He was trying to kill a woman. Why her? He asked. Joey's no longer an infant. Ah, yes, he missed the deadline. He failed to kill her sixteen years ago. What happened?

Azazel racked his brains, but could not remember no matter how hard he tried. He howled his fury at his lost memories. Then… he might not be able to remember the past, but he could certainly recall in detail what just happened. He failed to kill that woman again… because something was protecting her. What? He closed his eyes and recalled those scenes as precisely as he could. Her neck… she was wearing something around her neck…

But what could that object be that afford her that level of protection? He remembered that red flash of light and chuckled. He had a good idea what that object might be now. That meant that her death was averted – paid for by someone else. And that also meant that that object was now of utmost importance to him. He must have it back at all cost.

Another important question; how did she get her hands on that object? Those were questions he needed answered, or that little unknown might come back to plaque him later. But, that could wait. He had more important things to do right now, like getting his hands on that object. The only problem was that she had to give it to him willingly. It was then he remembered Frankie…

He grabbed a knife from the kitchen and started his hunt.

**_---supernatural---_**

They were running deeper into the forest. They felt they had been running a long time. But only five minutes passed them by. Suddenly, the woman tripped, dragging down the blond headed youth with her.

"Come on, mom, you can do it!" Joe managed to force the words out in between his breaths.

Joe tugged at his mom's right arm, willing her to get up and continue their flight. Sam saw what happened and turned back, his arm reaching for Laura's other arm. He was surprised when she wrenched her arm away from him instead.

Laura took a long hard look at her sons. "Go, all of you."

"Mom?" She could hear the shock in her sons' voices.

Laura turned to the Winchester brothers. "Take care of them for me."

"No!" All four brothers protested.

"Don't be silly. It's me the demon wants." Laura told them calmly. "Leave me here, and all of you can get away."

"You cannot die, Ma'am," Sam insisted. "I have visions. I saw terrible things happening in the future if you die tonight. Believe me… all of us here are expendable tonight except for you."

"Look… We know it tried to kill me sixteen years ago, but it was unsuccessful. It tried to kill me again tonight..." Laura's voice faded off.

Suddenly it occurred to Frank both times they got away because the demon touched his mom's neck. "Mom, could it be that pendant you wore around your neck? The one you never took off?"

Laura's hand went to her neck and pulled out the circular pendant dangling at the end of a short chain. It was silver in color, and intricately carved with strange symbols on it.

"Do these symbols make any sense to either one of you?" Joe asked the Winchesters.

Before Sam or Dean could take a look, maniacal laughter cut through the night air. Frank and Dean swiveled around, their shotguns in their arms, ready to shoot on sight. They saw nothing but trees and shadows. A second later, a series of fireballs lit up the dark night, lighting up and burning every tree they touched. As the various trees around them started exploding into fire, and the brothers and Laura knew they were trapped.

The demon appeared out of the darkness, and in a swift move knocked the shotgun out of Dean's hand before lifting him up and throwing him forcefully away. Dean landed at the foot of an old tree with burning branches his head banged hard against one of the many protruding thick roots and was knocked unconscious.

Azazel then reached out with his mind and telekinetically held both Sam and Joe captive against the one tree he spared from his fiery attack. Then he turned his full attention on Frank – the leverage he needed. He laughed and nimbly dodged the shot that Frank fired at him. Soon, he stood before the lad. He easily caught the punch Frank threw at him with his demon enhanced speed. A powerful backhand send the elder Hardy flying towards the ground, hitting it with such force, it left him dazed.

Biff Hooper knew that something was very wrong when he saw the trees before him suddenly bursting into flames. He almost turned back, knowing that it would be foolish to walk into a forest fire. Then he heard a scream and knew that was Laura. He ran towards the sound, just in time to see Martin Greenwood towering over Frank. _Martin?!_ Then he saw that Martin was about to deliver a vicious kick into Frank's stomach. Biff did not hesitate – he swiftly crossed the distance and jumped onto Martin's back, using his body weight and momentum to shove Martin away from Frank. He was stunned when Martin budged not at all, and next he knew, he crashed landed on his head on the hard ground, and blacked out.

Azazel smiled and reached down for Frank who was still struggling to regain his senses. He held up the young lad up by this throat with one hand, and made his way through the thickening smoke to where Laura was.

"Let him go!" Laura screamed at the demon the moment she saw him holding Frank by his neck. It was clear to her that Frank was struggling to breathe. "It's me you want… let my son go…"

"Remove that little silver thing you are wearing around your neck and give it to me," Azazel demanded. "Or you can watch your elder son choke to death before your eyes."

The heat from the fires was getting unbearable, and her vision was impaired the thick black smoke curling themselves around her. She wished she could see Joe one last time, but he was hidden from her sight. Nevertheless, she could hear him calling out to her, telling her not to remove her necklace. She could see that look from Frank's eyes that he was telling her the same thing. She had no doubt the demon would kill her as soon as she removed that necklace. But what choice did she have? Her elder son was slowly choking to death before her eyes. She reached up and removed that little silver pendant…

"Give it to me!" The demon said.

"Let him go first!" Laura insisted, her eyes flashing defiance despite her fear.

Azazel dropped Frank carelessly at his feet before turning back to her, his voice harsh. "Now, give it to me!"

Laura dropped the necklace onto its palm before rushing towards Frank, who was still gasping for breath. While the demon was still distracted, she tried to drag her son away with her.

The demon laughed. He held the pendant up high, muttered several ancient words. The pendant glowed for the last time, and vanished.

"I am back! I am whole again!" The demon exclaimed gleefully, its exuberant laughter rang through the burning forest. It remembered everything now, including who it was and the details of its master plan.

Then Azazel turned his eyes on the mother and son. "I must thank you for keeping a part of me alive when I should have been dead, Laura… but unfortunately, I cannot have you or Frank spoil what I had in mind for little Joey over there…"

And Laura watched with terrified eyes as the flaming hand reached out for her and Frank. She screamed.

**_---supernatural---_**

Fenton was fumbling through the burning woods when he heard a piercing scream. Laura! He realized. He turned and headed towards the direction of that scream. His eyes were tearing furiously as he squinted, trying to see beyond the thick sooty smoke. He tripped and fell against a tree. No, he fell against a body.

"Dad…"

_Joe?! _The father had to resist the urge to rub his eyes in disbelief. His younger son and the other guy, Sam, were plastered against the tree trunk, held there by… nothing. Fenton tried to pry Joe from the tree trunk…

"Don't bother, you can't" Sam said. "Go and save the woman. Hurry! Go!"

Fenton dug out the Colt from his pocket showed it to Sam. His heart lifted when he saw hope flashed in the young man's eyes. "I was told you know what to do with it…"

"Shoot in between the eyes or straight through the heart… now GO!" Sam yelled.

"Go, dad, hurry! Be careful of Martin – he's not Martin…" Joe urged him on.

Another scream cut through the smoke. Fenton threw his son one last glance. _I'll be back for you_, he promised his son with his eyes. Then he turned and left, feeling his way through the smoke as quickly as he could.

_'I am back! I am whole again.'_

Fenton heard the words, followed by the chilling laughter.

_…unfortunately, I cannot have you or Frank spoil what I had in mind for little Joey over there…_

He watched stunned as the boy he knew as Martin Greenwood began to reach out with flaming hands for his wife and elder son. He aimed the Colt at that creature. His hesitance cost him. The creature must have sensed his presence and sent the fireball after him instead. He ducked, but just barely. And Martin was before him. A hard punch into his stomach left him curled up in agony on the ground. Another kick at his hand sent the Colt flying. That was when he knew he failed his wife and sons.

"Hands in the air!" A familiar voice ordered. "And slowly step away…"

_Con!_ Fenton finally managed to place the voice despite the pain he was in, and was torn between relief and fear.

Mr. Hooper was helping Laura helped Frank stand up. "We've to get out of here… the fire…" Mr. Hooper shouted for all to hear.

Azazel snarled. He hated being interrupted and that seemed to be happening all the time tonight. Being at the end of his patience, he telekinetically broke a piece of burning branch and sent it flying into the policeman pointing the useless gun at him. He smiled evilly as the police officer screamed in pain and terror and dropped his gun. Frank, who had recovered somewhat, and the other unknown man was desperately trying to pull him out from under the branch and then working desperately to beat out the fire.

Then he thought he heard something. Sirens in the distance… and more men arriving… He could hear the footsteps heading his way. He turned his head to the skies and could smell the first hint of dawn. Perhaps that woman was destined to live after all, Azazel conceded. Now, he had to concern himself with his own survival. He faded back into the thick black smoke just as a few more officers burst through the smoke and onto the scene.

**_---supernatural---_**

Joe heard a soft clattering sound, and looked down to see the Colt his dad was holding at his feet. His heart sank – his dad must have failed.

Then suddenly and without warning, the force that held him to the tree trunk was gone. He landed painfully on his butt, as did Sam right next to him. Then he froze as a shadow appeared out of the smoke before him. His hands automatically reached for the Colt. He felt better the moment his fingers curled around the trigger. He brought the Colt up and aimed it at the smoky shadow before him.

It was Martin, and Joe tightened his grip on the Colt and the trigger.

"Joe… what happened?" Martin asked in Martin's voice.

"Shoot, that Colt can kill the demon," Sam urged him.

Joe hesitated. A part of him noted that Martin looked lost, almost bewildered.

"He's holding a knife! Shoot! Before it's too late!" Sam continued to urge him.

What happened next happened in slow motion for Joe. It was almost as if someone else was controlling his limbs, and he aimed and fired. The bullet hit right between the eyes and straight through.

He saw the light went out of Martin's eyes.

A split second later, several more shots could be heard. Martin's body jerked violently a few more times, blood splattering as a number of bullets tore through his upper torso, before sinking slowing onto the ground.

And Joe was left clutching the Colt, staring at Martin's sightless eyes staring back accusingly at him.

**_---xxxSUPERNATURALxxx---_**

**_  
_**


	10. Chapter Nine

And the next chapter.

* * *

The OneThat Got Away 

By Nomi

CHAPTER NINE

The Dawning Aftermath 

The aftermath of a violent crime scene was usually chaotic. But it was also a peaceful sort of chaos. The firemen were busy putting out the final bits of fire. And they were aided by an unexpected morning shower. Several crime scene investigators were moving around, taking photographs and notes of the crime scene that stretched from the car and into the smoldering woods.

The sky above was a dark grey. That was in part due to the smoke from the forest fires, and in part due to the fact that the sun was rising. The few paramedics on scene were busy taking care of the injured. The dead body of the serial killer had been packed and was on its way to the forensic morgue for autopsy.

Joe sat alone on a makeshift bed next to an ambulance clutching a blanket tightly around him, his hands gripping the mug of warm tea that the paramedic handed to him. He ignored everything happening around him as he struggled to tame his own chaotic emotions and thoughts.

_He shot Martin… He killed his classmate and friend… _

Try as he might, Joe could not remove those sightless accusing eyes from his mind. He knew those eyes would haunt him for a long, long time. So he sat there alone, trying desperately to come to terms with what he had just done.

Someone sat down next to him. It was his dad. He turned and lifted his haunted eyes to his father. He was glad to see that there was no condemnation in Fenton's eyes. It made him feel a little better, but it could not wash away the sight of Martin's eyes.

"Talk to me about it, son," his father said. "It'll make you feel better, I promise."

Joe did not speak but merely took a little sip from the mug he was holding.

Fenton recalled the moment he scrambled on his knees past all those gun-toting officers towards Joe, and saw him seated on the ground, his eyes wild with fright and horror. Both Joe's hands were still holding onto the Colt, and they were shaking badly. He gently pried the Colt from Joe's tense white fingers and concealed the weapon just before the first police officer appeared on scene.

"I remembered how I felt after my first kill," Fenton prompted Joe, using his own experience when his son failed to respond. "You had no choice, Joe. Martin was holding a knife. It was either you or him. And you know that's not really Martin. You did not kill Martin, son…"

"I fired that first and killing shot, Dad…" Joe stated flatly.

"He was holding a knife and would have used it—" Fenton started but Joe cut in.

"I saw his eyes, Dad," Joe finally said. "He looked so lost, as if he had no idea what was happening…but I shot him and killed him anyway."

Fenton's eyes widened. He was starting to get the idea of what was bothering his son.

"What if the demon already left his body, Dad?" Joe whispered in a voice so soft Fenton could barely hear. Yet he could not fail to sense the magnitude of the underlying pain and guilt.

"What if I really killed Martin?" Joe asked again, and raised his haunted eyes to meet with his father's.

Fenton was quiet a long while before he finally answered. "I admit it was an extremely chaotic situation. Sometimes, it's hard to say what is the right or wrong thing to do. Sometimes, it's just a matter of doing your best under very difficult circumstances. That does not mean that you do not have to face the consequences of your actions, of course. But Joe, I can tell you that you would never have fired that shot if there was an alternative open to you that did not have you risking yours or Sam's life. Do you understand what I am saying, son?"

Fenton kept his gaze calm and steady on his son, and willed Joe to understand. "You're not a killer, son. Just remember that."

"You're definitely not a killer," Frank said as he seated himself next to his brother. He had waited impatiently for the paramedic to finish cleansing and dressing his wound under his mother's watchful eye, and had arrived just in time to hear the final bit of the conversation between his brother and his father.

"And how would you know that? I just killed Martin…" 

Frank paused. Like his father had earlier, he knew it was important that he gave the correct answer the first time.

"Remember that assassin who killed Iola and was trying to kill you?" Frank hated to remind Joe of that incident, especially when Joe had only started to recover from Iola's death several months back. But given the situation, he felt he had little choice. Something told him that it was crucial Joe continue to believe in himself as one of the good guys. Perhaps it was what he learnt from the Winchester brothers last night…

"You were furious with him, and yet when the time came, when you could have just let him fall to his death with no questions asked, you risked your life to save his! That's why I agree with Dad. If there was any alternative available to you then, you would have taken it."

Joe looked his brother in the eye. It was the absolute faith that Frank had in him that finally gave him that bit of peace he needed. The rationalizing helped too…but ultimately it was his family's belief in his character that mattered.

"Thanks, Dad, Frank…"

"Hey, no worries, bro…"

"And what are we going to do now, Dad?" Joe asked. "We can't exactly tell the public that a demon possessed Martin and killed all those people…"

"No, we can't," Fenton answered. "But we have evidence and eye-witness account linking Martin Greenwood to the murders…"

"But Dad! Martin didn't—" 

"It has to be that way, Joe" Frank told his brother. "The public would demand an answer, and the evidence tells a story. But Dad, how are we going to explain how the women were killed pinned to the ceiling?"

"It is not unusual for the MO of a killer to remain unknown if the killer refused to talk. In this case, the secret of how he did it died with the killer. As for the 'why he did it' part – let's leave it to the psychologists, shall we?" Fenton said. "And I think we all need a nice warm bath followed by a long lazy day in bed…"

The three Hardys looked at each other, all covered in soot and swathed in bandages, and laughed. It was the best therapy to relieve the tension of the past week and the horror of the last few hours.

"There's Mom coming over now," Joe said in a light tone as he watched his mother heading towards them, pushing the Winchester brothers in front of her.

"How are you doing, kiddo? Good shot – Sam told me, and thanks for saving my kid brother's life!" Dean said to Joe, even as he scooted over and sat next to Fenton, his back hunched as if he was trying to look insignificant.

"Hey, you guys saved our lives too!" Joe replied as he watched Sam crouch down on the ground next to Frank.

He gave a quick scan of his surroundings peripherally, and spotted an FBI agent he did not recognize talking to some of the firemen and another agentcontinually peering through the broken windows of the '67 Chevy Impala. He shifted his position slightly to better shield Dean from sight, and noted that Frank did the same thing for Sam.

"Yes they did," Laura concurred, her eyes on her husband. _Help them_, she mouthed silently, and was happy to see Fenton give her an almost imperceptible nod.

Fenton passed over his car keys to Sam. "The dark blue SUV over there. And leave your car keys behind, please – we need some means of transport later."

Dean glared at Fenton, who blithely ignored him.

"No one drives my baby but me!" Dean gritted out furiously as slapped away Sam's hand trying to reach into his jacket pocket for the car keys.

Fenton simply ignored him and continued talking to Sam. He passed the Colt over to Sam who took it gratefully. "Here, I believe this is yours."

"Don't bother, Dean, Fenton had seventeen years of experience dealing with Joe, and I am telling you now, you can't win," Laura told Dean in a voice that brooked no dissent. "And don't worry about your baby. Joe here loves classic cars and knows just how to handle that cool baby of yours."

"But…" 

"Now you two better get going, I see that your good friend, Agent Hendriksen, is about to head our way," Fenton reminded the stubborn-looking Winchester brother.

Laura pushed Dean towards the SUV, adding "Just go – and drop by for Christmas dinner next week. You'll get your car back then, I promise...so go…now! And take care."

She glared at the elder Winchester until he finally made to move off after his brother. "And remember, Christmas Eve family dinner. We'll be waiting for you!" she added softly before turning her attention back to the approaching FBI agent.

The agent flashed his badge at them before showing them two photographs. "Special Agent Hendriksen, FBI. Have you seen these two around?"

Fenton took his time with the two photographs before passing them on to his wife. "They look real familiar, don't they, honey?"

Laura took her time, just like her husband did. "Hmmm…I think it's them, but I can't be certain. Too many things happened tonight, Agent Hendriksen, and your photographs are a little blurry. I hope you understand…" Laura gave the agent a sweet vulnerable smile before turning to her sons. "Frank, Joe? Take a look. Do you think they look like the two young men who just saved our lives?"

Agent Hendriksen watched with mounting irritation as the two teenage boys trotted over obediently to their mother's side to take a look at the photographs. His eyes narrowed. If it weren't for the fact that the local police chief just told him the Hardys had just survived a vicious serial killer followed by a forest fire, he might have thought they were stalling for time.

"Yes Mom, they were the ones who saved our lives," the blond-headed one answered.

"Saved your lives?" the agent queried.

"Yes, they saved our lives from the serial killer. If I may ask…why are you looking for them?" Frank asked.

"They are wanted for several murders and a bank robbery," Agent Hendriksen answered and noted the suitably surprised expressions on the mother and sons' faces. "I would appreciate if you would help us apprehend these two dangerous criminals."

"Given that they just saved my life and my sons' lives from a serial killer, I find it a little hard to believe that those two are murderers and robbers," Laura told the agent in a cold tone. "So unless you have absolute proof that they are what you claim them to be, please forgive my inability to assist you."

"As you can see, Agent Hendriksen, the persons you are looking for are not here. If they were that dangerous, shouldn't you be out there searching rather than bothering us?" Frank asked without bothering to be subtle.

"Perhaps you might have an idea where they might be heading?" Hendriksen chose to ignore the less than subtle hint toback off.

"We don't even know their names, mister!" Joe answered curtly, not bothering to hide his irritation. As far as he could see, his family was tired, dirty, injured and emotionally wrung out. There was no need for him to be polite.

"Their names are Dean and Sam Winchester," Hendriksen added just to see if he could elicit any other reaction. He had a feeling that the entire family before him was hiding something.

"Ah…" Fenton said – he was getting irritated as well.

"Ah…?" Hendriksen queried.

"Now that you mention their names, I would like to let you know that I have been approached by their father to take on their case and find out who framed them and why. Given that they saved my wife and sons' lives, I believe I will be taking on the case," Fenton stated emphatically. "I've seen some of the 'evidence' and have good reason to believe that it might have been tampered with."

"Mr. Hardy—" Hendriksen started in a warning tone, and was surprised to find himself cut off so casually.

"Agent Hendriksen… Please understand that my family has gone through a lot tonight. I appreciate your concern for our well-being. We can exchange notes on the case tomorrow – say, at three in the afternoon? Good, I knew you'd understand. Now, if you will excuse us…" With that, Fenton brushed the agent aside and led his family away.

Agent Hendriksen stared at the retreating backs of the Hardys. Somehow, those pesky Winchester brothers had gained a powerful ally. He knew all about the Hardys and their reputation.

Then he shrugged. There was no way even Fenton Hardy could prove a real guilty person innocent. The PI would soon realize that he was wasting his time. Meanwhile, he would continue to hunt for those two criminals. They would live a life on the run, forever looking back in fear, until the day they were caught or died, he promised himself. No criminals should escape justice.

Happy with his conclusion, Agent Hendriksen turned and walked away. He did not realize that his own eyes turned black for a merest moment in time.

**_---supernatural--- _**

The young police officer wheeled the body of the serial killer into the forensic morgue located in the basement of the Bayport Police Department.

"This is the killer?" the forensic doctor asked.

The young police officer gave a quick nod as he signed over the body. "Yeah. The Chief requests a standard autopsy; the cause and time of death…the usual."

The forensic doctor nodded tiredly as he took over. Things never changed down here. "And you're off for the day?" he asked instead. Not that he was really interested…it was all a matter of courtesy.

"Yeah, I've pulled two consecutive shifts and am totally worn out."

"Have a good rest!" the doctor called out just as the young officer left the room. He did not notice the little smile on the officer's lips, nor the fact that his eyes glowed yellow.

**_---xxxSUPERNATURALxxx---_**

**_  
_**


	11. Chapter Ten

And the next chapter - TA.

(I would like to thank TA for typing up most of the chapters and for posting them. I know this is not really my best story, but I do hope at least some of you have enjoyed them somewhat. This is the last chapter. I will post the epilogue tomorrow after tidying it up a little. I would appreciate some comments on how to improve on the story if you are kind enough. I know action is not exactly my strong point. Thanks - Nomi)

* * *

**The OneThat Got Away**

By Nomi

CHAPTER TEN

**On Family and Brotherhood**

A dusty dark blue SUV made its way up Elm Street, and parked on the driveway of the double storey home on 77 Elm Street. Two young men got out of the car, and slowly approached the main door. It was clear that they were both feeling a little awkward and nervous.

"Do you think they'll be expecting us?" Sam asked as he worked to make himself more presentable by dusting off the snow and trying to smooth off those ever permanent creases on his jacket.

"Of course," Dean answered more confidently than he felt. "They would be expecting us to return them their very pricey SUV… we could have just drive away with it, you know."

Sam scowled at his brother. That was not exactly a nice joke. But it seemed to him that Dean was more irritable and less sensitive than normal. Then he looked down and saw the present in his arms.

"Do you think they'll like the present?" he asked his brother again. Not that they knew much about bringing gifts to dinners. Social etiquette was one area which they had literally no experience in beyond what they learned from Hollywood blockbusters.

"They'll have to," Dean answered – he didn't really want to think about what they bought. Hopefully, the Hardys would never open that present. "We might be too uncouth to buy the right sort of gift, but I'm sure they'll be too polite not to like them."

Sam groaned as Dean pressed the doorbell.

"There you are!" Laura greeted cheerfully. "Frank! Joe! They're here! Set the tables! And we're thinking you guys are going to scoot with our car. Joe was already making plans to take over that gorgeous Impala…"

The mother chuckled at the stormy look on Dean's face. For some reason, she loved riling him. She turned her attention to the younger brother, and helped him take off that snow laden jacket. Poor little big boy, Laura thought. Sam looked so starved for affection, and Laura was determined that little Sammy would be getting a good dose of mama's love tonight, and every Christmas Eve from now on if she could help it.

"And what a lovely gift! The two of you are just so sweet!" Laura exclaimed as she plucked the roughly wrapped parcel from Sam's arms, and plopped it under the huge Christmas tree in the living room. "I can't wait to open it tomorrow morning! Now, let me warn you, no peeking at your presents tonight! We'll all open them just after breakfast tomorrow. It's a family tradition…"

"Tomorrow?!" Dean spluttered, but his eyes slid over a beautifully wrapped package under the tree with his name on it. He could see from the corner of his eyes that Sam had his eyes glued to the packaged marked 'Sam Winchester'.

"Yup, you'll be staying over in my room tonight," Frank told Dean with a grin. "And Sam will be bunking over with Joe. And don't worry about clothes, mom's washed all your clothes and had us cleaned all your stuff in the car for you."

"Mom's orders: me, Frank and Dad are to make sure the two of you bunk over at all cost," Joe confirmed with a glint in his eye as he waited for Dean's reaction. "In fact, mom got the keys to your baby, Dean…said I could have it if you didn't want to claim it tomorrow morning."

"But…" Dean tried to explain why they could not stay the night. It would feel too much like home, and it would be too comfortable. Their lives were not meant to be homey or comfortable – they were hunters, for goodness sake!

"You saved my family, and that made you family as far as I am concerned," Fenton added firmly. "And I promised your father I'll take care of you…"

Sam and Dean turned to stare at Mr. Hardy, surprised.

"Yes, your father's ghost appeared to me and told me what to do and where to find you. Come, we'll talk about that over dinner, and then we'll talk about getting those criminal charges against the two of you dismissed. In the meantime, please try to be more discreet in your Supernatural endeavors…"

Laura moved forward and started to hustle them all towards the dining room. "I'm afraid it's a traditional Christmas dinner we're having here with the usual home-cooked tasteless roasts followed by ultra-sweet Christmas puddings…"

"Don't believe that – mom's the best cook in Bayport," Joe chipped in. "And believe in what you smell now, and taste later."

Laura watched with a fond smile at Joe's defence of her cooking, and the eager expressions on both Sam and Dean's faces. Poor boys, when was the last time they had a good home-cooked meal? Then remembering what Dean said about their parents… did they ever had a home-cooked meal?

It wasn't long before there were screams of laughter coming from the dining room as the four brothers started trading heroic stories of how they brought down the bad guys. It seemed that Dean matched Joe when it comes to story-telling with a melodramatic flair. Laura swore he heart almost stopped several times as Joe described several close shaves in great detail. She could see from Fenton's face that even he did not realize how much danger his sons were in at times. But she could also tell that the stars of the night award goes to the Winchesters. It wasn't long before Frank and Joe stopped trying to compete and just listen to the tales of vampires, werewolves, shape-shifters, and other urban legends. It wasn't that psychopathic criminals weren't dangerous or interesting, Laura thought loyally. But hey, real-life vampires were just so much more colorful and… had that 'wow' factor.

But the mother also knew that she, her elder son, and Fenton were listening carefully to those tales because of what they learnt about Joe. They now need all the information and knowledge on the supernatural world to protect Joe. So they listened.

All too soon, dinner was over, and they retreated into the living room with their desserts. There, Fenton outlined his intention and plan to see the charges dismissed eventually. He conceded that the process might take several months, and warned the Winchester brothers to keep a low profile, and not get into any more trouble. However, his gut instinct told him that might be an impossible request from the two. It's like telling Joe to stop rushing headlong into trouble – impossible.

Later, they sang Christmas carols and watched a typical Christmas movie together as a family. They laughed and joked and poked fun at each other. Much later, Fenton watched his sons showed the respective Winchester brother to their bedrooms. He could not help but wonder the kind of life those two led, growing up without a mother and with a father who was always out hunting. But he could see clearly what they did not have – it showed clearly on their faces. His thoughts returned to his own sons, and suddenly felt blessed in his choice for a wife.

Fenton suddenly felt this urge to give his wife a real big hug.

"Thanks," he told her fervently as he embraced her from behind. "I've never known how fortunate I am until today…"

Laura laughed softly, leaning back into her husband's arms. "Hey, what came over you, darling?!"

"I am grateful, so very grateful for all the times you insisted that I came home for our sons… all those birthdays and Christmases and New Years…"

**_---supernatural---_**

Dean settled himself a little uncomfortably onto the makeshift bed next to Frank's. He would have preferred to bunk over with the younger one – at least they could talk about cars…

"Dean?"

"Hmmm?"

"How can you be certain that your brother is safe from whatever that demon planned?" Frank asked.

Ah, now he knew why he ended up with the elder Hardy. Dean sighed. He hated to disappoint that kid, but he really did not have the answer to that question.

"I don't know, Frank. I can only hope that everything I did is enough to keep him safe…" His mind flipped through some recent memories of Sam and he felt his heart chilled for a moment. The truth was he was much less confident now than before.

"So what did you do? What do I have to do?" Frank persisted. "How can I protect my brother?"

Dean sat up on his bed and took a long look at the determined expression of the youth before him. He suddenly felt a kindred spirit in there. Like him, this one would protect his kid brother at all cost. Unlike him, Frank had neither the experience nor the knowledge. But he got the heart.

"I hope you're good with languages, because first you must learn Latin – ancient Latin," Dean said as he reached into his little backpack for a stack of papers wrapped in a plastic bag. He had known that the Hardys would need information, and had a copy of his father's diary made. He had planned to pass it to Fenton the next day, but guess he might as well give it to Frank.

Frank groaned. Language was hardly his forte – unlike Joe who could converse fluently in multiple tongues, he was the expert in one – English.

"Here, take this," Dean said as he handed over the bag.

"What is it?" Frank asked as he went through the contents of that bag. More than half of those were written in a script that was alien to him.

"My father's notes on what he knew of the Supernatural…"

As Frank flipped through the pages, he started to note that there were some pictures that looked sort of familiar. The symbols on his mom's pendant! Frank quickly opened his drawer and took out the enlarged image of that pendant.

"Here, are these markings familiar to you?" he asked Dean.

Dean took a careful look at the image and finally shook his head. "Was this what your mom was wearing the other day?"

Frank nodded.

"Can I have it? I'll show it to some of the other older and more experienced hunters, they may know something…"

"Sure – take it. I can print another one."

"Thanks, and I'll get back to you on what I found out."

"Thanks."

The two looked at each other for a moment, and then quickly turned away. They might have learnt mutual respect for each other, but it was one of those uncomfortable moments for two males.

"How did you feel when you found out that Sam was one of those special kids chosen to lead an army of demons?" Frank asked. He wanted to know because he was still trying to figure out what he was supposed to be feeling, though his other objective was also to disperse the awkwardness between them.

"How would you feel, knowing that either you save him somehow, or if you fail, you have to kill him?" Dean asked back quietly.

"No, I would never kill him," Frank shot back, his eyes flashing fire.

Dean shook his head and chuckled. He said that too, and still say that. But Frank did not have to know.

"My Dad told me just before he died, that if I can't save Sammy, I had to find a way to kill him… I can't tell you what is the right or wrong thing to do, kiddo. I can only say this: when the time comes and you stand between your brother's life and the lives of millions or billions others, what decision will you take? No, don't answer me. Just think about it…"

There was a long silence. The answer, when it finally came, was simple and straightforward.

"That day will never happen."

Dean heard the grim determination in Frank's voice and saw the glint in his eyes, and hoped that Frank was right.

"Those special kids… do you know why or how Azazel choose them?" Frank asked. It was a logical question, from a detective perspective.

"All we know was that the kids are psychic and that all their mothers died on All Souls Day in the year of their birth. I have no idea how the demon chose them," Dean admitted.

"Can I have all the names of those psychic kids that you know about?" Frank asked excitedly.

"Why?"

"Because if we knew how or why Joe and Sam were chosen… maybe we can remove that mitigating factor somehow, then we might be able to influence the eventual outcome…"

**_---supernatural---_**

Sam watched the younger Hardy from his makeshift bed as Joe kept moving around from one end of the room to the other. Can't that boy just keep still for a minute? Sam wondered. He breathed a sigh of relief when Joe finally settled down onto his bed. But that boy continued to fidget about. Why can't he bunk over with the other one instead? Sam moaned silently, at least he could tell that he and Frank would be able to discuss technical computing stuff – from the glimpse he had of the books on the shelves of Frank's room. Instead, he was stuck here in Dean's paradise surrounded by posters and models of classic cars that he knew nothing about.

"Hey Sam!"

Sam quirked an eyebrow at that perpetually moving body and hid his irritation.

"How did it feel to know that… uh… you know… that…"

"That you're destined for evil?" Sam finished up the question for Joe.

"Yeah…"

Sam looked up at the younger boy seated on the bed towering over him and suddenly realized he had no idea being the big brother could be that complicated. After all, Joe was asking about something he had gone through, and that should be something he should be able to talk about. Yet, he found himself stumped for an answer.

"Hey… it's okay if you don't want to talk about it," Joe gushed out in an embarrass tone. "I mean, I understand that this is a private thing…"

Sam smiled a little. He could remember too well those early days when he first knew. "I was angry, then terrified. I wanted to die and I wanted to live. I supposed you might say that I am very confused. But eventually, it was Dean that set me straight. He promised that he would find a way out for me, and I hung on to that promise… I guess that's not too helpful, huh?"

"It is," Joe answered. "And thanks."

"You're welcome."

"Can I ask another personal question?" Joe ventured tentatively.

Sam tilted his head a little to indicate his acquiesce.

"How do you know that you're safe from that … you know… that destiny?"

"I don't," Sam replied in a soft voice. "I can only hope that I am, or that Dean would kill me before I turn evil…"

"Would your big brother be willing to kill you?" Joe asked, a little shocked by that concept.

Then he realized, with humanity at stake, Dean would have no choice… and neither would Frank… oh my god, could he ask that of Frank? More importantly, could he trust Frank to do what must be done if… if…

Joe forcefully shuttered those thoughts away. No, tonight he enjoys his Christmas; time enough to think about that tomorrow, and for the rest of his 'human' life. Then Sam's voice pulled him away from his morose thoughts.

"No… Dean will not kill me. Dean will never kill me. And that's why I have to hang on to my sense of humanity as long as I can…"

Joe listened and nodded – that made sense, to hang on as long as possible and relish every moment of humanity left… then his eyes widened. "What do you mean by 'sense of humanity'?"

A soft laugh floated up towards him.

"We're different from them, Joe. Don't you realize that by now? Demon blood flows in our veins…"

"What do you mean? What are you saying?" Somehow, Sam's tone of voice chilled him.

It was as if the Sam he knew was gone and someone else was there. Suddenly, he felt threatened in his own room.

Then he stopped breathing as another realization hits him with the force of a typhoon, driving all air from his lungs. They were not communication verbally but…

_Yes, we are communicating telepathically_, Sam said to him in a strange tone.

Joe wanted to move away, to rush over to his brother's room, but he could not. And he could not be certain whether it's his own curiosity, the need to know what Sam meant, or was it something else altogether that held him captive on his bed, listening to Sam, and seeing what he was shown. The fact remained: he stayed.

_Remember your first year, the night Azazel visited you…_

Sam's voice was soft, seductive. Images flashed through his mind: He was in a small cot, and Frank was sleeping on another bigger cot right next to his. A shadow towered over him. He was scared, but before he could cry, that fear was gone. Then he was sucking on something. It was blood… the demon's…

Joe felt sick to the stomach. Still he stayed where he was.

_That was why we are different. That was why we had all those special abilities. The same thing happened to me: Azazel showed me himself how he fed me his blood before killing my mother…_

Sam's voice continued to weave its way through his mind, and he could not shut it out, no matter how hard he tried. Frank… Joe thought. He had to tell Frank. He had to warn his brother…

_You won't Joe, you won't. Because you won't remember… You won't remember until its time for you to choose, and you will make the same choice as me, because it would be the only way to keep Frank safe…_

Some time past, perhaps.

Sam blinked. What just happened? He turned and saw the younger Hardy already asleep in his bed, his covers half scattered on the floor. Sam sighed and reached over for the covers and gently tucked it around the sleeping boy. A tiny smile tugged at his lips. Joe was really sort of like a younger version of Dean sometimes. And strangely, he was starting to like the idea of a younger brother to look after. He sat there and watched the younger Hardy sleep for a long time before falling asleep himself, a gentle smile still plastered on his face.

**_---supernatural---_**

It was a white Christmas. The skies were blue, and there was nary a cloud in the sky. It was half past nine, and the Hardys and their two house guests had just finished their late breakfast, and were now seated right in front of the brightly lit Christmas tree. Presents were past around and opened, followed by squeals of delight or laughter, pending whatever gifts they got and from whom.

Sam and Dean each got a brand new cell phone and a jar of home-baked cookies from the Hardys. Everyone should have a jar of homemade cookies at some point in their lives, Laura whispered to them when she saw their expressions. It was her way of telling them their place in her family, they realized. They were touched speechless.

Then they turned bright red as the Hardys opened their gift and stared at the contents in the box within: a first-aid kit, a model toy car, a Latin-English dictionary, and a book on demonology and exorcism.

"I believed the first-aid kit is mine," Laura said as she plucked the white box from Fenton's hands.

Joe took the toy model of the black Chevy Impala and gave a huge, sad, sigh. "And this is clearly for me, a replacement for what I cannot have." But one could see his eyes were twinkling with merriment.

Fenton and Frank looked at each other for a moment before reaching into the box together.

"I'll take the book!" Both said at the same time. Then they stopped and glared at each other. Finally, they turned their irate eyes on Joe and Laura, who were having a good laugh at their expense. Both Sam and Dean looked flushed and were busy fiddling with their new phones.

In the end, the father handed the book over to the son, and took the dictionary. Everyone said their thanks, and that was the end of the present-session.

Later, Joe proudly showed off his handiwork on the car. They had the broken rear window replaced and the dented roof hammered back in shape. Fenton had also provided a small budget that Joe used to upgrade the car engine and redo the car seats. Frank got rid of that clunky old radio and replaced it with a brand new digital play complete with a ten-disc CD-rack. Dean had to admit, if he thought his baby was cool before, it's certainly a real babe now. He whistled happily as he drove the car out of the Hardy's driveway and onto the street – after promising Laura that he would keep in touch and that he and Sam would turn up for next year's Christmas dinner.

"Sam…"

"Yea…"

"You'll join them for next year's dinner, won't you? Promise me you will…" That was as close to pleading that Dean got.

"Don't worry big brother. We'll get you out of that deal, and we'll come back for dinner together come next Christmas…" Sam promised.

**_---xxxSUPERNATURALxxx---_**

A/N: The part about feeding blood was in All Hell Breaks Loose 2.


	12. Epilogue

OK, this is the last bit. Please enjoy the read. And if you're nice, do leave a note or a comment, especially a critique. It will make my day. I think this ends my little detour into the Supernatural. Cheers, Nomi

And thanks again TA, for all the typing.

* * *

**The OneThat Got Away**

By Nomi

EPILOGUE

The Mansion was an old little apartment building located on the poorer end of Bayport. No one took any notice when a male in an old sports jacket and a torn cap made his way into the apartment building, up the dark and dank staircase, and into a small single-bedroom unit.

"I see you made it, Omulu."

"I am happy to see you back in action, Master."

Azazel laughed softly. "Yes it is good to be back. How were things during my absence?"

"There has been a bit of a power struggle, Master. But now that you're back…"

"Isn't it ironic that the one that got away from me was also the one that saw to my return?" Azazel mused.

"What happened, Master?"

"I had to kill all those mothers by All Souls Day, Omulu. But I did not have the power to be at so many places at one time. So I made a deal with a higher power. The condition was that each copy of me must complete the kill by the appointed time, or that part of me would be lost…"

"And how did Laura Hardy survive that night?" Omulu asked.

"The amulet she wore was an ancient protection glyph – designed to entrap a fragment of a demon essence, and as long as she wore that amulet, that particular demon could never hurt her again for it would be hurting itself…"

"So now that the amulet is destroyed…" 

"That woman is no longer important to us; we must focus on the next part of our plan," Azazel cut in curtly. The truth was, he could never touch her again, ever, simply because of her action of giving him the amulet. She gifted him his life, and the rules stated that he was beholden to her and he could never kill her. It was fortunate Laura had no idea how much power she held over him back then – it was why he had to let Frank go when she ordered him to do so. By giving up the amulet, she no longer had power over him. But, he could no longer kill her either.

Azazel sighed. He would have to let her live and die a natural death, and hope that her living on would not interfere with his plans.

"Now that the Boy King made contact with the Shadow Prince, what is our next move, Master?"

"We wait."

The demon hesitated before stating: "But the boy is still untainted."

"The process has started. The Boy King has exerted his influence. The events in the foreseeable future are already in place. Frank will do what he was meant to do, just like Dean did. And they will serve their brothers. For now, just keep an eye on the boy. I will not lose him through an accident."

"Do not worry, Master. I've just switched hosts, and this one's a close family friend of the Hardys. I'll keep an eye on Joseph and make sure he lives to fulfill his destiny."

"Good. Now go and wait for my next orders."

"And what of Sam Winchester?"

"Little Sammy has already chosen, as required, of his own free will. He just has not realized it yet. There is no longer any worries on that front. Now, go."

Omulu bowed and left as quietly as he came.

Yes, everything was in place – almost. First, he must regain his full strength…

Azazel smiled. It was time for him to collect from the unsuspecting sons, _the legacies of their fathers_…

**_---xxxSUPERNATURALxxx---_**

_To be continued in… The Legacies of their Fathers._

* * *

  



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